Deum Occidere
by Aurora Nova
Summary: It been a hundred years since the Last Dragonborn defeated Alduin and saved Skyrim. Now a new threat arises, and only someone with an unusual background can prevent a great evil from destroying an entire realm. (A/N: I had to up the rating to "M", because of certain language and situations that may crop up. Thank you to Samantha Bianchi for fixing my bad Latin in the title.)
1. Prologue

Deum Occidere

Prologue

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

The bright light beckoned to her, drawing her closer. There was no pain; only a sense of great peace. So this was what it felt like to die. She felt sorry for those she left behind, not to know this. Looking back, down a long, dark tunnel, she could see a room at the end, brightly lit, with people gathered around a hospital bed. The husk that had been her outer shell lay there. Dimly, she heard sounds of people sobbing and she wanted to tell them not to feel sad. She hadn't died; she had transformed. Once her being slipped its mortal bonds, the Spirit within was more beautiful and profound than could be described by mundane words.

The light ahead of her drew closer—or she drew closer to it, she wasn't sure which. Something waited for her within the light. Some_one_. Memory returned. She had done this before, many times.

_**Welcome back, my dear,**_ a Voice said—or perhaps thought. _**How do you think you did this time?**_

_ Not as good as I should have done, _she replied honestly. There was only truth here. _I wasn't as kind as I should have been, or as generous, or compassionate. And I didn't love as strongly as I should have._

_**You are still a young Soul,**_ the parental Voice assured her. _**You still did better this time than last.**_

_ Don't remind me,_ she squirmed with embarrassment. _I still can't forgive myself for not speaking up when I should have._

_**Do not be too harsh with yourself,**_her Creator said. _**These are lessons you are still learning.**_

_ Will I be going out again soon?_ she asked.

_**Not immediately,**_her Superior said._**Rest for a while. I will call for you when I need you again.**_

The light bloomed all around her, enveloping and infusing her. Consciousness faded, and she rested.

The period of unconsciousness could not be measured here. Time had no meaning. There was a period of not-being, then she suddenly became aware. She knew her Creator wished to commune with her once more.

_I'm ready,_ she said.

_**Your eagerness does you credit,**_the Voice approved. _**But first, you will need some information to help you with this task.**_

She waited patiently for her Superior to speak again. Things like this could not be rushed. Too much was at stake, each time she became alive again. The worst part was always Birth. The process removed any memories of her prior lives. She always felt as though she had to start over from scratch. And then there was the long period that followed Birth, when she couldn't do what she'd been sent to do. She was dependent on others to sustain and protect her; other Souls who were going about the tasks that had been assigned to them.

_**You are aware of a certain form of entertainment from your last life?**_the Voice broke into her thoughts. _**I believe it is referred to as a 'video game'?**_

_ Yes,_ she affirmed. _I played several versions of video games in that life, as a young mother with the children I had—_here she felt that twinge of loss, which she quickly set aside. She would more than likely meet those Souls again, in another life.

_**Are you aware that everything that is created, exists? **_the Voice inquired.

She was confused. That seemed like double-talk, and completely out-of-character for her Superior.

_Please explain,_ she requested.

_**You know of the theory of the multi-verse? That multiple universes exist side-by-side with each other, varying from barely any difference, to having nothing in common?**_

Though she had no corporeal form, she felt as though she were nodding. _Yes,_ she replied.

_**Then understand this: everything that has been created, whether imagined or written, exists on a different plane of consciousness.**_The Voice warmed to the lecture. _**Therefore, the worlds created by authors exist and are real in another universe. The same can be said for the realms created for certain television programs and video games, as well.**_

_ALL of them?_ she asked in wonder.

_**Most are fragments of universes,**_ her Superior qualified. _**Tiny loops of reality which do not support a viable existence. Those which have been—shall we say, 'fleshed out'—certainly can.**_

_ And that's where I'm going next? _she asked, beginning to get excited. Where would she be going?

_**I have need for an Agent in the realm of Nirn, the world of Tamriel.**_

_ Skyrim?_ she cried, thrilled beyond measure. _You're sending me to Skyrim?_

_**Be calm,**_ her Superior said, and she stilled the excitement within her. _**You always get over-excited. Please try to work on that, will you?**_

_ I'm sorry,_ she said, contritely, but the bubble of joy within her wouldn't stay repressed for long.

_**This time it will be different,**_ the Voice warned her. _**There is not enough time to send you through the Birthing process. This operation must be enacted immediately.**_

_ I thought the Birthing process was the only way to enter the next Life?_ she inquired.

_**Ordinarily, yes,**_ the Voice admitted. _**But while Time has no meaning here, it does in Skyrim. Already our Enemy has sent agents to threaten that world's existence. You will face grave dangers, but you will not be without assistance.**_

_ Do we have any of our own people there?_ she wanted to know.

_**No, you will have to rely on help from the people of Skyrim themselves.**_

She thought that through. Without another Agent, she would pretty much be on her own. Still, her Superior would not have trusted her with a mission this important if it was felt she wasn't ready to handle it.

_What am I taking with me?_ she asked. In other lives she had been able to choose skills and talents that would become an integral part of the person she had been. Because of the stress of the Birthing process, and its long recovery period, knowledge of any past lives was lost, and she would not know what skills she had chosen until she rediscovered them during that life. This time, apparently, it would be different.

_**You will take with you your knowledge of the game, though time has progressed since the game's scripted end. How much help this will be to you is for you to discover. You will also take with you the inherent ability for magic, though perhaps not exactly the way it worked in the game. You will have to experiment and see what works for you.**_

She absorbed this and gave another mental nod. _I'm ready, _she said. _When do I leave?_

The Voice held a note of irony in it. _**Now.**_

__Her awareness was sent down a long dark tunnel with a light at the end.

_'Once more into the breach, dear friends,' _she quoted to herself in amusement.


	2. Chapter 1

Deum Occidere

Chapter 1

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

She opened her eyes slowly and looked around her. Grey clouds scuttled across the open sky above her. In her peripheral vision she saw standing stones surrounding her, carved with some unknowable ancient figures and runes. She was lying on a stone plinth within the circle of standing stones. Candles eerily sputtered in the gusty winds, remaining lit despite the spitting rain.

She was cold, and she shivered. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the stone table, knocking something off. It was a wicked-looking curved dagger, made of some kind of brass or bronze material. It lay on the ground where it had fallen, next to the dead body of a woman in a long black robe.

She looked around again. Bleak, scrub-covered hills rolled away in all directions. There wasn't another soul to be seen for miles.

At this point she realized two things: first, she was completely lost and had no idea where she was in Skyrim; and second, she was completely naked.

The dead woman appeared to have been performing some sort of ritual, but whether she died because of it or due to some other means, it was impossible to determine. All that was important right now was that she had clothing. Quickly, the newly-risen girl stripped the dead one of her clothing and dressed herself. It was a snug fit—the dead woman was a bit shorter, and was flatter in the chest—and the boots were a bit tight, but it was better than nothing.

"I need to find out where I am," she said aloud, testing her new voice. Not bad; rather husky and pleasant to the ear. "I'll need a name, too. Something I'll remember to answer to."

The gusty wind whipped her hair into her face, and she realized at that point just how long and red it was. "Woo-hoo!" she exclaimed happily. "I finally get to have red hair!" Searching the satchel that had belonged to the dead woman, she found a strip of leather and tied back her hair. There were other things in the pouch as well—a couple of potions in red bottles, a chunk of bread and a wedge of cheese, a couple of long, thin metal stylus-like things that she realized must be lockpicks, and some dried herbs.

Curious, she put her hand into the satchel and gasped with astonishment and delight as it descended deeper into the bag than its outward appearance would have suggested.

"You are my new best friend," she grinned. She picked up the dagger and tucked it into the belt. She had no idea how to wield it, but better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. Before leaving the stone circle she searched the area carefully. Her knowledge of the game told her that sometimes chests could be found in the vicinity. She wasn't that lucky, however. There was nothing here.

"Okay," she said aloud. "So, no money, no armor and no real weapons. I am so screwed." She looked upwards. "You're going to make this challenging right from the get-go, aren't you?" she asked wryly to no one in particular. She didn't think her Boss would be listening in. There were too many other things that demanded the attention of that august being. The low rumble of thunder that followed, she felt, was purely coincidental.

With no way of telling which direction was which, she picked one and just started walking. In just under an hour she came to a road, and thankfully met no other wild creatures in the meantime.

"Okay, which direction now?" she wondered aloud. They both looked the same. Unless one counted the small caravan of two wagons just topping the hill to her left and moving slowly her way. She decided to wait and see if anyone could tell her where she was.

The teamster driving the lead wagon pulled up when she flagged him down. The five men on foot and on horseback surrounding the wagons appeared to be hired mercenaries.

"What is it you want?" the man on the first wagon demanded. "How did you come to be way out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"If you could tell me please, where I am?" she begged, throwing everything she had into a pleading look. "I've been walking such a long time, and I don't even know what day it is."

"Are you mad?" the teamster scowled. "You're in the Reach. And if you know what's good for you, you'll get yourself back home."

"I—I don't have a home," the girl said. She'd play the helpless female if it meant getting help and answers.

"Hmph!" the man snorted. "Go to Oblivion, then," he said callously. "I've got supplies to deliver to Whiterun, and you're making me late."

"Have a heart Sabjorn," the other driver called. "Can't ye see the poor lassie's down on her luck?" His voice had a lilt in it that, in another lifetime, she might have called 'Irish'.

"Not my problem, Giaccomo," Sabjorn said, shaking the reins and starting his team forward. "If I helped out every person who asked for it, I'd be a poor man indeed. You help her, if you feel that strongly about it, but keep her out of my way." He didn't look back.

During this exchange, she watched the interactions of the other men. Four of the mercs paid little heed to the conversation, watching the horizons and jesting among themselves. One, however, drew her eye. He was tall, muscular like most sell-swords, with reddish-blonde hair and beard. Though he lacked a tattoo and had both his eyes, he could have been the spitting image of one of the characters from the game. He looked at her piercingly, and she found to her immense irritation that she was blushing!

"What's yer name, lass?" Giaccomo asked now, brushing a lock of pure white hair out of his eyes.

She'd thought about this. "Alorra," she answered promptly. It was close to the name she'd used before, in her last life, and was one she'd used in playing the game. She felt confident she would answer if someone called her by it. In any other life, she would have been given a name by the Souls who would have been her parents, and she would have had several years to get used to it.

"Well, climb aboard then, Alorra," the wizened little man said kindly. "Pay no mind t' Sabjorn. He's a mercenary, like the others here. He won't do anything unless he gets paid t' do it."

"You're not one of them?" Alorra asked.

"Me? Divines, no!" Giaccomo exclaimed. "I'm just a merchant, along for the ride. Everything I have t' sell is in this wagon."

"And you're going to Whiterun?" Alorra asked.

"Whiterun?" he seemed surprised. "Oh, my, no, lass! No one goes t' Whiterun right now, not with the plague an' all."

"Plague?" she exclaimed. "There's a plague there?"

Giaccomo turned and gave her a long steady look. "Well, now where have ye been that ye didn't know that?" he asked.

She blushed again, and felt rather than saw the big, sandy-haired Nord staring at her. "I've been—out of touch," she said lamely. "But didn't Sabjorn say he had supplies for Whiterun?"

"Oh, t' be sure, t' be sure," Giaccomo answered. "But he'll be leavin' them at the gate and takin' off. He's already been paid for them, y'see, or he wouldn't go t' the trouble at all."

Alorra sat in silence and thought about this. A plague of some kind in Whiterun? Was this the work of the Enemy? It certainly seemed so. If that was true, then that's where she needed to go. But traveling there by horse-drawn cart from the Reach would take almost a day and a half, depending on where exactly they were. Were they closer to Markarth or Rorikstead?

Giaccomo didn't seem to notice her silence, and instead talked about everything from the weather to the condition of the roads to the prices he hoped to get for his goods when he reached Falkreath. His voice was pleasant, and she felt she could listen to his lilting brogue all day.

At one point, a little unnerved by the stares the big Nord kept giving her, she quietly asked Giaccomo, "Who is that man over there? The big, sandy-haired guy in the steel armor?"

"That would be Argis, Roald's son," Giaccomo replied. She knew that surnames frequently took the form of "so-and-so's son" in certain countries of the world she'd left. It seemed to work that way here, too. "I've seen him before, riding with the caravans. Capable fighter, keeps to himself. Does it bother ye that he keeps looking at ye lass?" Giaccomo grinned. "Shall I challenge him t' a duel over yer honor?"

She laughed. "That won't be necessary, Giaccomo, thank you. I'm sure I've been stared at before and it hasn't hurt me yet."

"Well, yer a fine-looking lass, if I have t' say it," the merchant responded. "Ye've probably had all the boys back home following ye about."

"I wouldn't know about that," she smiled. "Let's just save his life today when you don't fight him."

Giaccomo laughed loud and long at this. "Ye've a wicked sense o' humor about ye, lass!" he chortled. "It's somethin' a man can appreciate."

_So, his name is Argis also,_ she mused. _How ironic. I'd bet anything he's related to the Bulwark._

They pushed on through the gathering darkness until they came upon a small village tucked into the rolling hills.

"Ah, Rorikstead," Giaccomo sighed. "It'll be good t' warm these old bones by the fire!"

"Are we stopping here for the night?" Alorra asked.

"Aye," Giaccomo confirmed. "The roads are too dangerous after dark, as ye might well know, having walked all the way from—where did ye say it was again?" The keen look in his eyes didn't fool her. He was probing for information.

"I don't remember the name of the village," she countered. "It was so small, I don't think it had a name."

"Why did ye leave, then?" her companion asked.

"I was kidnapped," Alorra said, having carefully thought her story out. "A necromancer was going to sacrifice me on one of those stone altars." That much, apparently, had been true. The dead woman certainly seemed to have been a necromancer.

Giaccomo drew in a hiss of horror. "Ye poor wee lass!" he sympathized. "And yet you escaped. How did ye manage that?"

Alorra shrugged. "I don't really know. Something went wrong with her spell, and she dropped dead." She had a feeling her Superior had a hand in that, but she didn't say this aloud. In point of fact she had a feeling her Superior had had a hand in several things so far, including this caravan just showing up at the right time. "I took her clothes and things and just started walking, but I don't think I'll be going back home. There's nothing for me there."

They had pulled up in front of the Frostfruit Inn, and Giaccomo jumped down from the wagon. Alorra stood to follow him, and was about to climb down on her own when she felt someone grab her around the waist and lift her down safely to the ground. The sandy-haired Nord grinned at her, standing way too close for her personal comfort. He smelled like leather and steel.

"Quite an escape story, Bright Eyes," he commented with a wink. "If it's true." His voice was deep, low and husky—just like the Argis from the game—and she would gladly have listened to him reading a phone book if he'd just keep talking.

Breathless, Alorra took a step back to look up into his face. My, he was tall! She found herself backed up against the wagon and stammered, "Why wouldn't it be true?"

Again he quirked a grin. "You tell me." His hands were still on her waist. She looked down at them pointedly and he released her.

"I always tell the truth," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. _Well, except for the no-name village and being kidnapped,_ she qualified to herself. "Then I never have to remember what I've told people."

A cynical look crossed the man's face. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bright Eyes," was all he said. Then he turned and headed into the inn.

Alorra fumed. Who the heck did he think he was, anyway? He might look like one of her favorite characters in the game, but he certainly didn't act like him.

_Oh, that's ridiculous! _she told herself. _That was a __**game**__. And this isn't the same person. Just how did you expect him to act?_

She followed the others into the inn. She had no money, but she hoped the innkeeper would allow her to stay by the fire tonight. If not, perhaps she could sleep in the barn. When she inquired, however, Giaccomo spoke up.

"Nonsense, lass! Ye'll be sleepin' in a proper room, away from these ruffians. I couldn't have it on me conscience if anything happened t' ye while yer travelin' with me!"

Alorra felt pretty sure she'd be able to handle a few over-amorous and highly intoxicated drunkards, but she allowed Giaccomo to pay for a room for her and prepared to follow the innkeeper, who introduced himself as Hjalmar.

"Before I say g'nite t' ye, lass?" Giaccomo coughed delicately.

"What is it, Giaccomo?" she asked.

"Well, it's just that those robes yer wearing might put some folks off. They'll be thinkin' yer not the kind o' person they want hangin' about, if ye get me drift."

"They're all I have," Alorra replied.

"I know, I know," Giaccomo soothed, "but I might be able t' help ye out. Y'see, I've got a rather nice-lookin' dress in me wares right here." He opened the backpack he'd brought inside and pulled out a green dress, which he unrolled and shook out. It had long sleeves and a tan corset over the rough spun fabric, and Alorra couldn't resist touching it. It would more than likely keep her warmer than the thin robe she was currently wearing.

"It's very pretty," Alorra said. "But I have no money to pay you for it, and you're already paying for my room tonight."

"Well, y'see this is where we can help each other out," Giaccomo said, with a gleam in his eye. "If ye give me the robes yer wearin' and the dagger at yer belt, I'd say that more than pays fer the dress and the room. I'd even give ye a bit o' coin on the side, just to make things fair an' all."

He wasn't fooling her. She'd already sensed there was magic in the robes and the dagger, but since she needed the money more than she needed the other things, she agreed to the trade. She took the dress and the pouch of coins and handed over the dagger.

"I'll give you the robe tomorrow," she smiled. "I'm still using it at the moment."

"Tomorrow's fine," Giaccomo grinned. "I'll bid ye good night, then, Alorra."

She wished him pleasant dreams in return and followed the innkeeper to her room.

"Here's the key," Hjalmar said, handing her a large piece of iron. "I strongly suggest you lock yourself in." He looked her up and down. "Good thing old Giaccomo spoke up, or I'd have offered you Muiri's room. She wouldn't have minded."

"Who is Muiri?" Alorra asked.

"My daughter," the man replied shortly. "Left home last month to get married in Riften. Haven't heard from her since."

"Perhaps she's too busy being a newlywed?" the girl suggested.

"They were to have come back here," he told her. "No one just vanishes like that. Not both of them together. And especially not Hamund; he's a good lad, a steady man. Something happened, I'm sure of it."

"If I find anything out in my travels, I'll come back and let you know," Alorra promised.

"I'd be much obliged," Hjalmar said. "Be sure you lock that door," he reminded her as he left. She did as he ordered, then slipped out of the black robe and put on the green dress she'd just got. It fit much better, and she carefully folded the black robe and put it on top of a chest to give to Giaccomo in the morning. She sat down on the small bed and watched the flame dance on the candle sitting on the night stand. She let her mind relax and thought over the day's events.

That there was some sort of plague in Whiterun was her first concern. If Giaccomo didn't travel there, she would have to go as far as she could in the little man's company, then somehow manage to convince Sabjorn to let her travel with him the rest of the way, or walk there on her own. The sooner she could get to Whiterun, the better.

Hjalmar's missing daughter and son-in-law was some sort of side quest, but he seemed to be a good man, and she wanted to at least set his mind at rest, if she could. She'd have to see what she could find out about Muiri and Hamund, but there was a lot of Skyrim between Rorikstead and Riften to get lost in. Still, the Enemy worked in subtle ways, and this could be one thing she couldn't afford to overlook. She made up her mind to go to Riften after Whiterun.

Giaccomo's coin helped. Not having a lot of money was definitely a problem, but with some luck she might still land on her feet. In the game, everyone started out the same—a bound prisoner with only the clothes on their back—and it was up to their own wits and resourcefulness to succeed. She could do no less.

It was time to test one thing more before she retired to bed: magic. Not wanting to set things on fire, she opted instead to try other schools rather than Destruction, to start with. She concentrated, formed an image in her mind and focused her will and energy. When she gestured with her left hand, a small burst of light came forth, illuminating the small room. It hovered just above her head, a warm, comforting glow.

_Well and good,_ she thought. _Let's try something else._

She concentrated again, setting the image in her mind. Focusing once more, she released the energy with a gesture. A ghostly form of a wolf appeared and prowled around the room, sniffing the sparse furniture and waiting patiently for her to send it against an enemy. There were no enemies here, however, so she had to wait for him to disperse, unsure how to dismiss him before the spell wore off.

Her _Candlelight_ winked out at about the same time. Alorra attempted to channel electrical energy next, and sparks danced from her fingertips, ready to be streamed at the first opponent she met.

The rattling of the doorknob broke her concentration and the spell fizzled. She heard shuffling footsteps from the other side and knew someone was trying her door. She was glad now that she had taken Hjalmar's advice about locking it. The doorknob twisted again but only just so far, and whoever it was on the other side shook it a little in apparent frustration.

Was it that man, Argis? she wondered. She knew it was her old self hoping she wasn't right, but what did she really know about this man? For all she knew, he was a complete scumbag. He _was_ a mercenary, after all. Maybe—and this thought made her cringe—maybe it was Giaccomo? Perhaps the white-haired old man wanted a little more than a robe and a dagger in return for the room he'd paid for her?

A different noise came next: a slight scratching of metal on metal, and a whisper of creaking. With alarm she realized the lock was being picked from the other side! She readied the _Sparks_ spell again, intending to electrocute whoever stepped through the door.

"You're a bit lost, Olaf," she heard someone say from the other side, and realized with a sense of relief that it was Argis speaking. "Aren't you sleeping in the stable tonight?" There was a heartbeat of silence, then Argis said, "Lockpicks? You're scum, you know that, Olaf? And you're gonna get us thrown out of here."

Olaf. She remembered him; a sleazy-looking man with a scraggly beard and mismatched armor. She was suddenly ashamed of herself for thinking it might have been her benefactor.

"Come on, Argis," Olaf said slyly. "Keep your voice down! Don't think I didn't see you looking at her all afternoon. What's wrong with a bit of fun, eh?"

"It's wrong if she didn't say yes," Argis replied.

"What makes you think she didn't?" Olaf challenged.

"Well, that locked door is a pretty good indicator," the big Nord rumbled. "Leave now, Olaf, while you still can—in one piece, that is." There was a tone in his voice a deaf man could have heard, if he'd had his wits about him.

Olaf apparently didn't. "You want her for yourself, don't you?" he sneered. "All the women fall for you, don't they? Can't stand a little healthy competition? I tell you what, why don't we share this little bit of fluff? She oughta be able to handle us both."

"I'm giving you one last chance, Olaf," Argis rumbled dangerously. "Leave now before you say anything you're gonna regret."

Thick as he appeared to be, Olaf must finally have taken the hint, because he said something extremely rude to Argis before he stamped off. There was silence for a long moment, then from the other side, Argis said quietly, "He's gone now, Bright Eyes. Blow out your candle and try to get some sleep. I'll make sure he doesn't come back."

Reassured she'd have an uninterrupted night, Alorra leaned over to blow out the candle and lay down on the small bed. It wasn't as if she couldn't have taken care of Olaf on her own; she had been prepared for that. She was just sorry Argis would lose sleep this night watching over her door, but grateful to realize her initial assumption about him was wrong. She still needed to explore the limits of her knowledge of magic, but that would have to come later. Right now she needed to rest. They were still a long way from Whiterun, and she would need her wits about her. Especially now that she had inadvertently made an enemy. She intended to keep her eye on Olaf.


	3. Chapter 2

Deum Occidere

Chapter 2

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

The caravan started out bright and early the next morning. Argis seemed to be keeping himself closer to Giaccomo's wagon, putting himself between its passengers and Olaf. For his part, Olaf glared at the big Nord, but made no other moves.

The attack, when it came, was as unexpected as it was deadly. Sabjorn was in the lead wagon again, and he suddenly stiffened and gave a short, choking cry as an arrow sprouted from his back. The horses, sensing the shift of guidance on the reins, plunged forward at top speed. The wagon caromed behind them, missing the curve of the road and overturning. Both horses went down in a tangle of wood and harness, screaming horribly.

Shouts and yells came from the mercs as they found themselves being attacked from all sides. Giaccomo was bravely trying to keep his own team from bolting.

"Get down in the wagon!" he shouted at Alorra, and she obediently clambered over the backrest and ducked down between two large crates. Just in time, as an arrow _thocked_ into the seat where she had been sitting.

Alorra followed the line of flight back with her eyes and spotted the bandit near a cluster of large boulders about fifty yards away. She summoned the energy within her and pointed at the ground in front of her. _Wolf!_ she thought, and released the energy. Her ghostly familiar came into being where she pointed. "Go get him!" she directed him, and the wolf took off toward the bandit. He didn't last long against the flights of arrows leveled at him, but at least it was one less person attacking them, and it kept him busy while Alorra concentrated on building a field of energy around the wagon and horses.

Giaccomo was stunned. "What in the name of—yer a mage, then, darlin'?"

Alorra nodded. "Just stay put for a moment, can you?" she asked. "I'm not sure yet if I can keep this going while we're moving."

"Can I shoot through it?" the merchant asked. Alorra considered for a heartbeat, then nodded again.

"I can allow for that. Go ahead," she told him.

Giaccomo picked up a bow and quiver from under his seat and began picking off the bandit archers who were trying to keep their distance from their prey. Alorra threw everything she had into the shield, and the wavering greenish light intensified. Beyond it, she could see the mercenaries dealing with the bandits who were foolish enough to come too close, but they were being systematically picked off. Two went down, and Alorra saw Olaf get hit in the arm with an arrow before Giaccomo found the bandit responsible and killed him with an arrow of his own. Olaf didn't even acknowledge the rescue. He chugged down a potion on the spot and moved on to his next opponent.

Just when it appeared they would be overwhelmed, the bandits withdrew. Nothing happened for several long moments and finally the three remaining mercenaries relaxed their guard.

"They left?" Giaccomo asked. "That's odd. They had us right where they wanted us."

"Too odd for my taste," Olaf said. "I'm done. I'm heading back to Markarth. Sabjorn's dead, which means we ain't getting paid no more." He threw a suspicious look at Alorra. "Shoulda known you weren't what you appeared to be. Mages!" He spat on the ground and walked away. The two remaining men watched him leave.

"Whaddayou think, Argis?" one of them, a Breton, asked. "Should we leave, too?"

"I'm thinking about it, Willem," the sandy-haired Nord replied.

"You're not serious!" Alorra exclaimed. She let her shield dissipate as soon as the threat of danger had passed. "What about the supplies in Sabjorn's wagon? Whiterun needs those supplies!"

Argis walked over to the overturned wagon and attempted to calm the two horses, who had managed to get to their feet in the traces, torn rigging hanging from them. They tossed their heads, snorted loudly and rolled their eyes.

"In case you haven't noticed, Bright Eyes," Argis drawled, "you're short one teamster. And this harness needs to be repaired before the horses can pull the wagon—assuming you can get it up on its wheels again."

Alorra jumped down from Giaccomo's wagon and came over to where Argis waited. She was tired; the shielding spell had taken a lot from her, but she refused to show it. "What's broken on it?" she asked.

Argis gave a sardonic grin. "You gonna take out your needle and thread and stitch it back together, Bright Eyes?"

"Stop calling me that," she frowned. "My name is Alorra. Just show me what's broken. And then maybe between the four of us we can get the wagon upright."

Argis looked over her head at Willem, who shrugged his shoulders. The Nord rolled his eyes and showed her the straps that had snapped under the strain of the accident. "If you think you can do anything with these, you're welcome to try. Willem, Giaccomo and I will get the wagon back on its wheels. You just sit tight."

Alorra laid the straps out on the ground, broken ends touching. She called once more upon the power within her and channeled it through her hands. _Mend!_ she commanded silently. The leather glowed with a pale, blue-white light as the torn ends fused themselves together. She gave each a hard tug and was satisfied with the results, happy that her magic worked differently from the game. If she'd been limited to that kind of power, she couldn't have done this.

She moved over to the broken shaft that hung between the horses, through which the harness straps ran when everything was in good working order. She wouldn't be able to do anything with it until the wagon was on its wheels again.

The three men pushed and strained with all their might, but the wagon was heavily laden, and impossible to put right again. Even when she insisted she help, they were not strong enough to lift several hundred pounds of dead weight.

"Alright," she said breathlessly. "Let's try something else."

"I'm open to suggestions," Argis drawled.

"We could empty everything out of it," Giaccomo suggested drily.

"We should have done that at the beginning," Willem complained.

"Gentlemen, please!" Alorra said. "Let me concentrate!"

_I need a little help with this one,_ she silently prayed. _I don't think I'm strong enough to do this on my own._

Her hands began to glow, pinkish-peach. Guided by the Voice in her mind, Alorra reached out as though she were picking up a small toy and setting it upright again. The peachy-pink glow enveloped the wagon, lifting it off the ground, straightening it and settling it behind the two horses, who flicked their ears backwards, but otherwise had no other reaction. The wooden shaft melded itself back together and the leather harnesses snaked into place.

The glow faded, and before she slumped to the ground, Alorra mentally offered a _thank you_ to her Superior. Giaccomo caught her as she fell.

"By the Divines!" whispered Willem. "It's sorcery! I'm getting out of here!" He took off at a dead run, back the way they had come. Argis didn't stop him.

"Gods have mercy!" Giaccomo muttered. "Ye didn't tell me ye could do that, lass!"

"I didn't know I could…until I tried," Alorra said weakly, breathing hard.

"You've got some explaining to do, Bright Eyes," Argis rumbled. "But let's get out of here first. Giaccomo, help me get her back on your wagon."

"No," Alorra said. "I want to drive the other one."

"Do you know how?" Argis demanded irritably. He wouldn't have been surprised in the least if she had said yes.

Her face fell. "No," she admitted.

"Then you can ride with me, but I'm driving," he insisted. His own horse had taken off with the others when the fighting started and was probably halfway back to his stable in Markarth by now.

"What about the men?" Alorra asked, concerned. "Sabjorn and the others?"

"I'm afraid they're dead, lass," Giaccomo said.

"We can't just leave them lying there," she urged, feeling her strength slowly returning. "Can't we bury them?"

Argis blew out an impatient breath. "The ground around here is rock hard," he explained. "It's already close to midday. If we take the time to do that we'll be here when those bandits come back."

Alorra knew he was right, but couldn't accept there was nothing that could be done.

"Could we build a cairn?" she suggested. "Just pile stones over them so the wild animals can't defile them?"

"I suppose it's the least we can do," Giaccomo allowed. Argis heaved a sigh and said, "Fine. Let's just get this done."

They found a shallow depression in the ground nearby that made it easier. They carefully laid the bodies of the three men in the hole and began piling stones on top of them. Argis took Sabjorn's belt pouch of coins from him and tossed it into the wagon. "I'll see his widow gets this," he said curtly as he rounded up more stones.

It was over an hour before they were finished, but Alorra was satisfied. It was the best they could do. They climbed back into the wagons and with Argis at the reins of the lead carriage, headed out onto the road again.

They rested the horses at the crossroads where they would be parting company from Giaccomo. He intended to adhere to his original plan of heading south to Falkreath, while Alorra and Argis would continue east to Whiterun.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Argis muttered as he scooped up water in a bucket to give to the horses.

When he returned to the others he said, "Before we go any further, Bright Eyes, I think you owe us that explanation of just exactly who you are."

Giaccomo agreed. "Yes, I'd like to know that, too, lass. Ye're much more than ye've led us to believe."

Alorra shifted uncomfortably. Telling them the truth would make them think she was a madwoman for sure. They'd never believe her. And a carefully fabricated untruth was also unacceptable. They deserved better than that for the help they'd given her.

"I'll tell you what I can," she consented. "You might not believe all of it, though."

"I've seen a lot of strange things in my life," Argis rumbled. "Try me."

"Well, for starters, I'm not from around here, but you've probably already figured that out."

She didn't get an argument from them on that one.

"You've seen me use magic, so I guess you could say I'm a mage, but that's only part of it," she said carefully.

"Are you a daedra?" Giaccomo asked fearfully.

"What? No!" Alorra denied vehemently. "I have no part of that!"

"What, then?" Argis demanded. "Were you sent here by someone? Was it the Empire?"

"Yes," she started to say. "I mean, no! Not the Empire. But I _was_ sent here." She sighed in frustration. "I'm not explaining this very well, I know. Please believe me when I tell you I mean you no harm. I'm a sort of….trouble-shooter. I fix things that aren't going the way they're supposed to. My Superior has learned of a threat to Skyrim, and I've been sent to find out what form that threat will take, and to try to stop it."

The two men looked at her in silence for several heartbeats. Suddenly Argis began to chuckle, then to laugh right out loud.

_"You?"_ he guffawed. "A little bitty thing like _you_ is supposed to stop a big scary threat to Skyrim? Pull the other leg!"

Alorra scowled. She didn't think he'd believe her. "Giaccomo?" she asked, turning to the merchant.

"I'd have said ye've gone completely mad," he said slowly. "But I've seen what ye've done this day, protecting me wagon an' horses from incoming arrows and mending leather harness straps so well ye can't tell they were ever ripped apart. I've seen yer kindness t' the men that died, not wantin' t' leave them t' be molested by the local wildlife—even Sabjorn, who wasn't that nice t' ye. I don't know what ye truly are, me lass, but I'm certainly glad ye fought for our side this day, an' I'd be honored t' call ye me friend."

He extended his hand for her to shake, and she accepted it gratefully. Argis' laughter died as he looked on.

"Alright, Bright Eyes," he said, still grinning. "Keep your secrets, if it makes you feel better. I've heard some whoppers in my day, but that has to be one of the best. I'll keep my end of old Sabjorn's contract and protect this wagon and its contents until we get to Whiterun. But after that, you're on your own. Deal?" He extended his hand as well.

Alorra gave a mental shrug. Okay, so he still didn't believe her, and she was sure Giaccomo didn't either, but at least they accepted that _she_ believed what she'd told them, and that was a start. She took Argis' hand and shook it.

"Deal," she said. "Shall we go, then?" They climbed back into the wagon and Alorra waved good-bye to Giaccomo as Argis gave the horses a flick of the reins to get them moving.

They had been traveling for nearly two hours when Argis pulled up the horses.

"Why are we stopping?" Alorra asked. She was relieved to finally have an excuse to talk to him. She'd asked him a few questions as they left the crossroads, but his answers had been so short and terse as to be almost rude, and she'd given up.

"Look down that ravine," he said, not pointing, but gesturing with a nod of his head.

She looked. The sides of the road rose sharply on both sides as it wound down to the hilly plain below. She saw immediately what he saw. "A perfect place for an ambush," she said quietly.

His look of surprise rewarded her. He hadn't thought she'd be that quick on the uptake. _Score one for me,_ she thought indulgently.

"Have you seen any movement?" she asked now, deliberately not staring ahead.

"Not yet," he said, handing her the reins and climbing down from the wagon. He made a show of adjusting the harness. "But I'd bet septims to sweetrolls they're there."

"What do you want to do about it?" she asked, adjusting the skirts of her dress.

"I'm open to ideas," he said as he climbed back up and took the reins from her. "But make it quick. We don't have much time."

Alorra thought quickly. "When I give the word, whip the horses to go as fast as they can."

"Are you out of your mind?" he muttered. "We'll be dead before we reach the other side!"

"Just do it!" she hissed. "You saw what I did earlier today. This will be Act Two."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Argis growled.

She waited until they had almost reached the beginning of the ravine. She didn't want the horses to have to run too long, but they also needed to pick up speed to get through the crevasse as quickly as possible.

_"NOW!"_ she shouted, channeling her energy into a shield large enough to cover both the wagon and the horses. Argis yelled, _"HEYAHHH!" _as he cracked the whip over the horses' heads. Startled, they plunged into an immediate gallop, the force almost throwing Alorra from her seat. She gripped its edge tightly as she concentrated solely on keeping the shield around them as they raced along.

They plunged into the ravine and bounced over the uneven road. Almost immediately, a hailstorm of arrows rained down upon them from both sides of the sunken road. They bounced harmlessly off Alorra's shield and rattled to the ground. Shouts of dismay echoed up and down the ravine as the bandits realized their carefully plotted ambush was netting them nothing.

"Hold on tight!" Argis warned. Ahead, through the wavering green wall, he saw several of the brigands sliding down into the ravine to try and cut them off from the end. Argis gave the whip another crack and urged the horses to go faster. Foam flecked the corners of their mouths and sweat glistened on their hides. The creak and rattle of the wagon was matched only by the pounding hoof beats echoing through the canyon.

Three of the bandits were foolish enough to try to step out in front of them, attempting to spook the horses into stopping, but the shield wall obscured enough of the horses' vision that they barreled completely over the men. The wagon leaped into the air behind the beasts as they hit the human speed bump.

Alorra felt herself giddily lifted off her seat. If she hadn't had such a firm grip on the wooden plank and the iron side rail, she would have found herself face down in the road with the wagon leaving her behind. As it was, her concentration wavered and slipped, and the shield wall came down. They were nearly clear of the ravine, however, and Argis yelled, "Keep down!" as he pushed her down off the seat and into the well of the footrest.

_"YEARRRGH!" _she heard him yell, and for a moment she thought he was yelling at the horses again. Looking up, she saw his face contort with pain as blood leaked down from an arrow stuck in his shoulder. She knew there was nothing she could do about it now. It would have to wait until they were safely away from here.

They broke free from the ravine with the horses still going full tilt. Argis clearly wanted to put as much distance between the bandits and them, and only when he heard the labored breathing of the team did he finally rein them in. The ravine was merely a speck on the horizon by this time. The horses trembled and shuddered in their traces, and he kept them at a walk for several minutes before bringing them to a halt near an abandoned shack by the side of the road.

It was late afternoon, and Alorra wondered if he intended to stay here for the night. Looking around, trying to get her bearings, she saw a fortress in the distance.

"Fort Greymoor," Argis told her when she pointed it out. "I didn't think we were that close, but it's a good sign. We've covered a good distance today."

He grimaced again, and Alorra said quickly, "We need to get that arrow out of you."

"Not here," Argis insisted. "Let's keep going. The fort's not that far, and we can see if they have a healer there."

"You can lose a lot of blood between here and there," she pointed out. "Get down and let me take a look at it."

"Are you a healer, too, Bright Eyes, on top of everything else you've spun?" he asked sarcastically, but his face looked pale and drawn, and Alorra knew he was just protesting for the sake of argument.

"I might be," she said. "Dammit, Argis, just let me have a look, okay? I need to make sure that arrow hasn't nicked an artery or something."

He looked as though he wanted to debate it further, but finally nodded and climbed down, after setting the brake. He looped the reins around the rail on the footrest and held up his good hand to help her down.

The abandoned shack had nothing inside except some empty crates, and was dimmer inside than the fading afternoon sun outside. Argis lowered himself gingerly onto a wooden crate and Alorra fired off a _Candlelight_ spell to give herself something to see better by.

The arrow had gone through Argis' shoulder, just below the armhole opening of his steel hauberk. The mail-lined sleeves hadn't been enough to stop the missile from piercing its way through metal, leather and flesh. Blood slowly seeped down the big Nord's arm, but to Alorra this was a good sign. If an artery had been hit, the flow would have been faster.

"I'm going to have to remove it," she warned him. "I'll have to break it off and push it through. It's going to hurt for a little bit."

"Just do it," he gritted. He yelped once when Alorra broke the back half of the arrow off. She gave him a moment to recover, channeling a little bit of her sadly depleted magicka reserves into a small _mending_ spell to seal the broken end of splinters. Grabbing the arrow by the bloody tip with a bit of leather, she pulled it out the rest of the way, as straight as she could.

"YOW!" Argis yelled.

"Sorry," she said. "I _did_ warn you." She used the rest of her magicka as a healing spell to staunch the blood and close the wound.

"Yeah, you did—what?" he began, surprised. "Hey! That felt good!"

Alorra gave a small private grin. Yes, he _had_ to be related to the Bulwark, though he hadn't said anything about that yet.

"It will do until we get to Whiterun," she told him. "Ready to move on?"

"Whiterun?" he asked skeptically. "You're still intent on going there, even knowing they've got the plague?"

"It's because they have the plague that I have to go, Argis," she said. "I have to find out if that's part of what the Enemy is doing."

"Oh, yeah, right," he drawled as he helped her into the wagon and climbed in after her. "I forgot. This mysterious 'enemy' who wants to destroy Skyrim."

"And all of Tamriel in the bargain," she reminded him, irritated once more. Why did he have to be such a…a _prick _sometimes? "Why is that so hard for you to believe? It's happened before, you know."

The sneering smile left the big Nord's face. "I guess I didn't think of that," he admitted. "There was the Oblivion Crisis, if I remember my history correctly. And more recently the Cult of Miraak and Alduin, the World-Eater. The Last Dragonborn took care of those."

"Did you know the Dragonborn?" she asked innocently. She knew the answer, but wanted some idea how long ago it had been. His snort of derisive laughter confirmed her guess.

"I'm not _that_ old, Bright Eyes," he said. "That was almost a hundred years ago. My great-grandfather, Argis the Bulwark, was one of the Dragonborn's Housecarls." There was a hint of pride in the admission.

"So you're named for him?" she asked.

"Family names tend to get repeated a lot in Skyrim," he shrugged. "Especially names that have a lot of honor attached to them. It's a vain hope that the younger will follow in the elder's footsteps."

"Why would it be a vain hope?" Alorra inquired.

"Because sometimes, when you're giving a chance to prove yourself, you find you don't measure up," he said cryptically, then fell silent and refused to say more to her.

Alorra was left with her troubled thoughts. Had this Argis done something dishonorable? Was that why he felt the need to see this mission through? Or perhaps he hadn't been able to do something that had been expected of him. That kind of disappointment could be hard to live with. She knew from one of her past lives how bitter that could be.

_It was 1939, and Europe was perched on the brink of war. She had been Annike then, staying with friends in Poland when the German army invaded. She'd seen the signs, even before the Nazis began rounding up anyone of Jewish descent. She could have protested, could have written letters back home to the States and made people aware of what was going on an ocean away. But she was afraid; afraid that if she said anything, the Nazis would discover that she, an American citizen, had a Jewish mother._

_ Her friends were summarily rounded up and sent to "detainment" camps. She never saw them again. For the rest of her short life, Annike regretted not speaking up. She joined the Resistance movement in France and spent every day fighting the Germans by more subtle means than guns, trying to atone for the failing of her character._

_ When the Nazis raided their headquarters two years later, Annike was captured and sent to a prison camp where she was systematically beaten and raped by the guards before being taken to a courtyard with eight other women from her organization and shot to death by a handful of fanatical Nazis._

_ As she felt her Soul slip from its battered shell, Annike knew she had finally learned the lesson this life had been set up to teach her—Do._

They made it to Whiterun just as the sun slipped over the western horizon. Argis spoke with the men who ran the stables, trying to find out the situation in the city.

"It's bad," the stable master, Lennart, said. "I haven't heard of any recent deaths, but they're still pretty sick inside the walls, and Jarl Torolf has ordered the city sealed until further notice."

"Are there any healers inside?" Alorra asked. "Isn't anything else being done to relieve the suffering? What kind of sickness is it?"

Lennart gave her a confused look. "It's the _plague,_" he said helplessly. "People are sick and dying in there. I don't know more than that. I'm just glad I'm out here."

"Well how did it start?" she inquired. "These things usually start somewhere."

"I can't help you," Lennart insisted, stubbornly. "I'm just the stable master. Do you want to board the horses or not?"

Alorra blew out a breath of frustration. This was pointless. She had to get inside the city. But how to do that if it was sealed?

"Where do I take the supplies in the wagon?" Argis asked now. "They're paid for. How do I get them inside?"

Lennart looked relieved. This was a question he could answer.

"Drive the wagon up to the gate and present your papers," he said. "The guards outside will help you unload your goods. After you leave, they'll signal the guards inside and retreat while the stuff's taken inside."

"Good enough," the big Nord rumbled. He turned to Alorra.

"Well, I guess that's it, then, Bright Eyes," he said. "You can still change your mind and come back to Markarth with me."

She shook her head. "I need to get to the bottom of this," she said.

"I had a feeling you were going to say that," he muttered. "I can't make you change your mind?"

"I'm sorry, Argis. This is what I was sent here to do."

He ran a hand through his sandy-blonde hair. "Well, if you're convinced, then I guess there's nothing left to say."

She nodded and held out her hand. "Thank you for your help in getting me here, Argis, as well as the supplies. Have a safe trip back to Markarth."

"I'm not going back," he said.

She blinked. "You're not?"

He gave a self-deprecating grin. "Nope. If you're determined there's something rotten in Skyrim, you're going to need all the help you can get finding out what that is. And since I don't see you using a sword or axe, you'll need some muscle to back you up."

She gave him a blinding smile. She could have leaped at him and hugged him, but knew that would only give him the wrong idea. Instead she settled for presenting her hand again and saying as sincerely as she could, "Thank you, Argis. That means a lot to me."

"Don't get all mushy on me, Bright Eyes," he warned. "We've still got to get inside Whiterun and avoid catching the plague. I hope you have a plan for that."

She refused to be daunted. "I'm working on it," she smiled.


	4. Chapter 3

Deum Occidere

Chapter 3

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

"This was your plan?" Argis complained. "Walk right into a plague-ridden city?" His voice was muffled behind the cloth he pressed over his face.

"You notice they didn't stop us," Alorra pointed out as they passed the silent smithy on the right and the closed inn on the left. The streets were empty, and an eerie quiet had settled over the town. There were no bodies lying around, which she thought was odd. If there truly was a plague here, there should have been dead and dying all over the place; the air should have been thick with the pungent, sickening odor of decay. At the very least, there should have been clouds of flies everywhere. But there was nothing.

"That's only because you told them you're a Healer," the big Nord said sourly. "You'd better be right about that. Where do you want to start?"

"Let's head up the hill and see if we can find out where everyone is."

As they approached the central market, two children, poking around the market stalls, suddenly stopped when they saw the mercenary and the young woman. They dropped the apples they had scrounged and scurried to hide behind one of the empty stalls.

Immediately Alorra waved Argis to hold back and wait. She approached cautiously and crouched down. "It's alright, don't be afraid," she smiled encouragingly. "I won't hurt you. Come on out."

"What about _him?_" asked the girl. The boy elbowed her to shush her. They couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old, either of them.

"He won't hurt you either," Alorra assured them. "What's your name?"

"Agna," replied the girl. "And this is my cousin Konur. He's Jarl Torolf's son."

"Agna!" the boy scowled. "We're not supposed to talk to strangers!"

Alorra smiled. "Well, do you know what they say about strangers?" she asked.

Unsure, the children shook their heads.

"A stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet," the red-haired girl said, as winningly as she could. "My name is Alorra, and this is Argis. We're here to help, if we can. Can you tell me what's happened here, Konur?"

Torn between following the restrictions of his elders and wanting to believe the stranger, the boy finally muttered, "They're all sick. Some of them even died. I got sick, but I got better. So did Agna."

"Where is everyone?" Alorra asked. "Couldn't the healers at the Temple take care of them?"

"The healers died first," Agna said sadly. "So did my Mama…" her face screwed up as though she wanted to cry, but no tears came.

_The poor child,_ Alorra thought. _She's all cried out._

She looked more closely at the children, now that they had shuffled a little closer, out into the open. She saw several fading red pock marks on their hands and faces.

"Did you get those spots while you were sick?" she asked gently.

Agna nodded. "They itched really bad, too."

This was interesting. "Were there any other things, like blisters?"

Konur shook his head. "No, but my da and ma have had the fever for a couple of days."

Alorra stood then. "Can you take me to them? I'd like to speak with them."

Konur looked doubtful. "They're both still real sick," he replied. "I don't think I should."

Agna scowled. "Konur! She said she wants to help. You _do_ want to help us, right?" she turned to Alorra.

The older girl nodded vigorously. "Absolutely. It's why I'm here."

"I'll take you to Dragonsreach, then, even if Konur won't!"

"I didn't say I _wouldn't,_ Aggie!" he protested. "I just said I didn't _think_ I should! Come on!" he told Alorra, taking charge once more. He turned and headed up the stairs behind him, Agna trailing behind.

Alorra turned back to Argis, who was waiting patiently, and threw him a grin.

"Shall we?"

"If you're sure you know what you're doing, Bright Eyes," he replied, still keeping the cloth over his mouth and nose.

Alorra's first sight of the Wind District was impressive. She remembered it from the game, of course, but nothing prepared her for the splendor of the real thing. The sound of rushing water from the canals spilling down the raceways into the pool surrounding the park; the wind rustling though the blossoms of the Gildergreen tree; the beauty of the Temple of Kynareth on one side, and the impressive façade of Jorrvaskr on the other; and rising above all, beyond another flight of stairs, the majestic fortress that was Dragonsreach itself, situated in the Cloud District.

It was to the Jarl's hall that Konur and Agna led them. There were no guards on duty here. Konur told them that anyone well enough had been sent to the main gate.

Inside it was dim and dusty. There was no fire in the great pit in front of the Jarl's throne, no place settings or food laid on the long tables. Alorra peeked to the right as they headed to the stairs at the back. What had been the chambers of Farengar, the court wizard in the game, were empty and dark, filled with cobwebs. She felt sad about that; she would like to have met his successor, but it appeared there wasn't one.

Argis kept his silence, eyes darting around the shadows, making sure nothing lurked there. He followed a few steps behind Alorra, who followed the children.

Konur led them to the Jarl's private quarters. On the bed were two people, a man and a woman, shivering under the blankets, moaning with fever.

"How long have they been like this?" Alorra asked as she approached. Argis hung back by the door, the cloth still pressed to his face.

"Since the day before yesterday," Konur said. "All the grown-ups are sick. Aggie and I have been looking after ourselves."

"It's the same in the town below," Agna said. "Sigurd and Gerda got sick but are starting to feel better. Sonje died, though," she finished, sadly.

"She was your friend?" Alorra asked sympathetically as she gently pulled back the covers from the Jarl and his lady.

"Yes," Agna said. "She was a couple years younger than me."

"What did they do with the ones who died?" the red-haired Healer inquired.

It was Konur who answered. "Da ordered them taken outside the city and burned," he said soberly. "That is, until he and Ma got sick. Then the guards sealed the main gate. Anyone who died after that got taken to the Hall of the Dead and left there."

"Down in the catacombs?" Argis asked from the doorway. Konur nodded.

"When did people start getting sick?" Alorra asked, finishing her examination. The swollen lymph glands and crusty red rash told her, along with the fever, what she needed to know. She knew what this was.

"I guess about two weeks ago," Konur said. "They blamed it on the Khajiit caravan that came by, because one of them was sick. At first it was only a few people that got sick, but then everyone did."

"Can you help them?" Agna begged.

Alorra smiled. "Yes, dear, I believe I can. I know what this is. I've seen it before. It's called 'measles'. Where I come from, it's usually not life-threatening, but only if you've built up a resistance to it. If you've never encountered it before, it can be devastating." She remembered how the disease had literally wiped out entire tribes of Native Americans when Europeans first came to America.

"I'll need a place to work, to make a potion to help them," she said.

Konur's eyes brightened. "There's the old wizard's workshop!" he offered. "It hasn't been used in a long time, but I think there's some things still there you can use."

"That's a good start," Alorra smiled. "Can you take Argis there? Maybe start cleaning it up so I can use it?"

The boy nodded and headed for the stairs. "Come on, Argis," he called. "I'll show you where it is!"

Argis quirked a smile at Alorra. "I sure hope you know what you're doing," he said pessimistically, but the look he gave her was one of admiration. He followed the Jarl's son downstairs.

"Can I help?" Agna asked enthusiastically. She seemed relieved that someone was in charge.

"Yes, get me a bowl of cool water and some clean cloths," Alorra said. "We need to try to bring the fever down."

She quickly got the girl working on applying cool compresses to the Jarl and his lady, who remained unconscious and unresponsive. Alorra worried it might already be too late to help them, and when Agna left to refill the bowl of water, she used some of her magicka to channel healing spells at both of her patients to give them the strength to pull through.

Jarl Torolf weakly opened his eyes and stared glassily at her. "Who?" he croaked through fever-parched lips.

"Shush," Alorra said softly. "I'm Alorra. I'm here to help." She raised his head slightly and dribbled a few drops of clean water into his mouth. A look of relief washed over him as he worked to take in the precious moisture.

"Gods…..sent….you…" he murmured, before he drifted off into an uneasy sleep again.

_Well, that's not too far from the truth,_ she thought, as she gently wiped his face. She moved over to the Jarl's wife and was tending to her when Agna returned.

"I need you to stay with them, Agna," she said. "Keep bathing their faces. If they wake up, dribble a few drops of clean water into their mouths, okay? They're very dehydrated."

"They're what?" the girl asked puzzled.

"Thirsty," Alorra said, more simply. "Just a few drops at a time, mind you. And keep those compresses going. I'll be back as quickly as I can."

She headed downstairs to the kitchen area to see what she could find. She, Argis and the children would need to eat soon, she knew, but at the moment she was looking for something specific which was never shown in the game. She hoped she'd find it.

_Aha! There you are!_ she thought triumphantly as she opened a stone crock to see it filled with dried oats. _Exactly what I was looking for!_

The crock was huge and heavy, so Alorra opted to fill a smaller bowl with the dried grain and carried it over to the wizard's chambers.

Konur had found some candles and lit them, illuminating what had been Farengar's private quarters. Dust lay thick everywhere and books were strewn about. She could imagine that irascible, cantankerous man in a fit of pique over the condition of his workroom. The thought made her grin.

"What are you so happy about?" Argis growled, lifting a stack of books he'd piled up from the floor onto the table.

Alorra spoke to Konur. "Your father woke up briefly," she said. "He's very weak and has fallen back asleep, but it's a hopeful sign."

"I need to see him!" the boy exclaimed, but Alorra grabbed his arm as he rushed past her.

"Hold on a minute!" she said. "You're not done here yet, and I said he's asleep again. You can see him later. Your cousin is with him and your mother right now, so finish up here first. I need a place to work."

"She's not my real mother," Konur said. "I call her 'Ma', but my real ma died when I was born. I don't remember her. Da married Signy not long after, and she's the best! You can save her too?" The boy was clearly worried for both his parents.

"I'll do everything I can," Alorra assured him. "But the sooner I can work in here, the sooner I can cure them. Have you found a mortar and pestle yet?"

"A what?" the boy asked, puzzled, but Argis said, "I think I saw one in the back room there. We haven't got that far yet."

She found the alchemy implements and took them back to the kitchen area to clean them up. The kitchen was the only room that showed signs of occupation, other than the private chambers upstairs. Alorra surmised the children had kept the place clean as they foraged for food for themselves.

She took her bowl of oats, and the mortar and pestle upstairs with her to relieve Agna.

"You're doing well," she complimented the girl. "Now we need to grind these oats into a powder."

"Why?" the girl asked. "Can't we just cook them down?"

"We could," Alorra agreed, "but they'll be much more effective if we can break them down. I wish I had another mortar and pestle, but we'll have to make do with just this one."

"Is that what that's for?" Agna asked as Alorra began to grind. "I think I saw another one in the kitchen, in a cupboard. Shall I get it?"

"Yes!" Alorra exclaimed. "Make sure it's clean!" she called after the girl, who took off at a run.

An hour later Argis and Konur returned upstairs to report that the wizard's chambers had been cleared.

"We put all the books back in the shelves," the Jarl's son reported. "We also set those two funny tables back against the far wall. What are those for?"

"If my memory serves me right," Argis said, "one is for enchanting items, the other's for making potions. It's the alchemy table you need, right?" he asked Alorra.

"Yes," she nodded. "And I'm hoping there are still some ingredients there I can use."

But Konur shook his head. "We didn't find anything like that," he said. "Just some old crystals. I don't know what they're for, though." He showed her a few petty-sized soul gems he'd found.

"I know what they're for," Alorra said, taking them from him. "But these are empty, so unless and until they get filled, they aren't of much use to anyone."

"How's my da doing?" Konur asked, worried.

Alorra smiled. "I think the compresses and the oatmeal baths have made them feel more comfortable," she replied.

"Oatmeal bath?" Argis queried.

Agna nodded enthusiastically. "Alorra showed me how to make them! We put ground up dried oats into the water. It soothed the itching right away! I wish somebody did this for me, when I was sick!"

"Konur…." a weak voice wheezed. "Where….are…you…boy?"

"Here, Da!" The boy practically leaped to his father's side. His eyes shone with hope. "What is it, Da? Can I get you anything?"

"People…here…who…are they?"

"Friends we haven't met yet, Da," the boy grinned, looking at Alorra as he spoke. She rewarded him with a smile.

"You..you're…..in charge," the Jarl said weakly. "Help….our people."

"I will, Da," Konur promised. "But you're going to get well."

The Jarl shook his head. "No," he croaked. "I'm…dying."

Stricken, Konur looked up at Alorra, who rolled her eyes, gave an exasperated sigh and shook her head.

"He's not dying," she said. "He just thinks he is. Or maybe he wishes he could so he'd feel better. Trust me, he's over the worst of it now, and if I can get that potion brewed, he'll be well on way to recovery."

"What do you need to make the potion?" Agna asked.

"Vampire dust and mudcrab chitin works best," Alorra mused. "But I could also work with charred skeever hide and hawk feathers."

"We don't have anything like that here in Dragonsreach," Agna said, doubtfully.

"Isn't there an apothecary's in town?" Alorra asked. In the game there had been _Arcadia's Cauldron._ She didn't remember seeing it on the way through town, since they'd met the children at that time.

"There's _Cressida's Cauldron,_" Konur offered. "But she was one of the first ones to get sick and die."

"And no one thought to try and see if she had anything left behind in her shop that could help?" Alorra demanded, puzzled.

"I don't know if they did," Konur shrugged, a little defensively. "And anyway, her place is locked up tight. I don't think anyone could have gotten in if they tried. They were all coming down sick at that time."

"You need someone to do a little breaking and entering?" Argis rumbled, cracking his knuckles.

"We'll go together," Alorra said. "I think the children can manage here for a little bit while we check it out."

"I want to come too!" Agna protested.

"No, dear," Alorra said. "I need you to stay here with Konur and keep working to make the Jarl and his lady comfortable. Here, let me do this first." She stepped over to the two invalid adults and cast a simple healing spell on each to give them the strength to fight off their disease. The two children watched her, eyes growing wider every second.

"You really _are_ a healer!" Konur breathed.

Alorra smiled. "Among other things, yes. Now sit tight here. Argis and I will be back shortly."

The trip to _Cressida's Cauldron_ proved as uneventful as it was unproductive. Argis didn't need to break the lock on the door; though it looked intact, it hung on broken hinges. They walked unchallenged into the dim interior of the building. Alorra used her _Candlelight_ spell to illuminate the room. The place had been ransacked. She would have suspected looters, but too many valuable items had been left behind. As she expected, she found only two _Cure Disease _potions hidden away behind the counter, but nothing with which to make more.

"Couldn't we burn a few skeevers down in the dungeons?" Argis asked wryly.

"That would give me one ingredient," Alorra remarked as they headed back to Dragonsreach. "I'd need at least one more."

"There's mudcrabs in the fens to the west of here," Argis said helpfully.

"It will have to do, I guess," she said. "I hate to leave the children alone, though." Something caught her eye as they passed through the Wind District. She hadn't noticed it before, but this time she realized something was missing. Her companion was speaking, however, and she put it to the back of her mind.

"They won't be alone, Bright Eyes," Argis said. "Give the Jarl and his lady those potions there. Once they've recovered they can look after their own kids while you and I hunt down what you need to make more cure potions."

"We'd best do it quickly, then," Alorra said, worried. "There's a lot of people here, and you've already been exposed to it."

"I feel fine," Argis said. "Don't worry about me."

"You feel fine _now_," Alorra pointed out. "The incubation period is about a week."

"Well, what about you, then?" Argis said, a note of concern in his voice. "You've been exposed to it just as long as I have."

"Ah, but you see, I've already had the measles," the red-haired girl replied. "I can't come down with it again." Inspiration struck suddenly. "Which gives me an idea."

"What are you thinking about?" the big Nord rumbled, suspicious. "I don't think I like where this is going."

Alorra chuckled. "I'm convinced you won't!" But she refused to say any more until they returned to the Jarl's palace and administered the potions.

Konur was elated when his father sat up and looked around, clear-eyed for the first time in days. The Jarl was still very weak, however, from being bed-ridden, and Alorra insisted he and Lady Signy drink some broth she and Agna prepared in the kitchen.

"How could this have happened?" Jarl Torolf moaned. "My poor people!"

Alorra's heart went out to the man. Nearly half his city had succumbed to the disease.

"I don't believe the Khajiit were at fault, my lord," Alorra said. "From my knowledge of this disease, they may have been carriers, but they didn't create it."

"I am in your debt, Healer Alorra," the Jarl said humbly. "Ask me for anything. If it's within my power to give it to you, it's yours!"

"Let's hold off on that until we get Whiterun back on its feet, my lord," Alorra said. "There are still many sick people here, and not enough resources to care for them."

"Aye," the Jarl replied. "I can send to the other Holds for more healers, but I doubt they'd want to take the risk to come here."

"Let's not do that," Alorra insisted. "You were very smart to seal Whiterun to keep the disease contained here. We don't need a pandemic sweeping through Skyrim right now. Let's try to eradicate it here before it can spread further."

"I'm open to suggestions, then, Healer," the Jarl said.

Alorra thought for several moments. "My friend Argis, here, had a good idea," she said finally.

He blinked in surprise. "I did?"

"Yes," she grinned. "You suggested we burn a few skeevers to get the charred skeever hide. It would give me one of the ingredients I need and reduce the rodent population at the same time."

"I can see if some of my men are up to the task," Jarl Torolf said. "There are some of the guards that managed to pull through the sickness."

Alorra's eyes lit up. "Excellent! I'll want to talk to them. If my plan works out, I'll be able to make a more potent cure potion, which won't require an entire flask to work."

"Anything you need, Healer Alorra, you just let me know," the Jarl said fervently.

The next forty-eight hours were a whirlwind of activity for Alorra and Argis. He took charge of a small cadre of city guards who had managed to survive the measles. They went into the dungeons under Dragonsreach and into the Hall of the Dead in the Wind District, where they would be most likely to find what they were looking for.

"Never thought I'd end up a skeever-hunter," he growled, but he threw himself into the task and managed to return with enough of the pre-charred hides for Alorra to get started.

"How did you manage to scorch them?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at their somewhat blackened condition.

"Torches work just as well as magic, Bright Eyes," he grinned. "Do you need more? We're thinking of going into the cellars of The Drunken Huntsman and The Bannered Mare."

"As long as it's just skeever hides you bring back," she smiled wryly. "Leave the mead there."

"Awww," he scowled playfully. "You're no fun!" She grinned back. He was certainly becoming more comfortable around her, if his teasing was any indication.

For her own part, Alorra went back to the alchemy shop and brought back as much equipment as she could to help her mass produce a cure. Lady Signy helped to the extent she was able, having some basic knowledge of the healing properties of herbs.

"What happened to the Shrine of Talos that used to be in the park?" Alorra asked the Jarl's wife.

"That hasn't been there in nearly a hundred years," Lady Signy replied, "since the end of the Civil War, at least. My husband's ancestor, Jarl Balgruuf, was ordered by the Empire to take it down. Some say he didn't want to, but since the Empire had defeated the Stormcloaks there wasn't much he could do."

_So in this reality, the Empire had won?_ That was interesting. When she had played the game, she had always sided with the Stormcloaks. Why align yourself with the very people who had tried to cut off your head?

"Are there no other Shrines to the other gods?" Alorra asked. "I thought there was one to Kynareth in the Temple, and one to Arkay in the Hall of the Dead?"

Lady Signy looked troubled. "The Shrines were stolen several weeks ago," she said. "Thieves broke into the Temple in the middle of the night and took it. The priests were murdered. They never found out who did it. Torolf was livid, and sent word to the other Holds by couriers, informing them of what happened here. He also requested that new Shrines be sent, but then we all became ill, and Torolf was forced to seal the city when it became apparent we were dealing with a plague."

_Even more interesting,_ she thought. The Shrines, which could have cured the measles, had been removed prior to the outbreak. The healer-priests had been murdered, and the alchemist was among the first to die of the disease; on top of that there hadn't been a court wizard in long enough that his quarters were gathering dust. The alchemy shop had been robbed of anything that she could have used, and the disease itself was not one associated with the game she'd played a lifetime ago. _Someone is definitely interfering,_ she thought grimly. _No wonder the Boss sent me here._

She knew she needed more information to find out who that someone was, however, and right now, healing the sick was her primary concern.

She worked tirelessly over the next several hours, following the quietly Voiced instructions in her mind, using the equipment available to her, and adding as a last component several drops of her own blood, as well as that of the guards who had survived the disease.

"It has….magical….properties now," she explained carefully. "You'll never get this disease again, and your blood may help to prevent others from getting it, and help those who have it already to recover more quickly."

A few were reluctant to the point of refusal to allow her to take their blood.

"What are you, some kind of vampire?" one man said belligerently. "I'll spill my blood on the battlefield, thank you. You'll not be taking it from me now!"

"Arvad!" the Jarl said sternly. "This woman is trying to save us all. It's your duty to your Hold and its people, as well as to me, that you cooperate. Let her have some of your blood!"

Arvad muttered something under his breath, but dared not disobey his Jarl. He presented his arm.

It was late in the evening before she finished the first batch of potions. Stronger than a standard _cure disease_, she would be able to heal more of the sick with less of the potions. Signy ordered her to get some rest, but Alorra refused.

"We need to go house to house," she insisted tiredly. "Everyone needs some of this to get better. There's a good chance we can wipe this out in just a few days' time!"

"I'll help you, then," the Jarl's wife offered, though she looked worn out herself, having only recently recovered. "Just tell me what to do."

"We'll help, too," Konur and Agna said together.

In the end, she gave each of them a bottle of the precious potion and instructions on how much to give every afflicted citizen. Starting with those remaining at Dragonsreach and working their way down to the city gates, they made sure to miss no one. Alorra insisted on giving Argis a dose first.

"Is this really necessary?" he complained. "I'm telling you, Bright Eyes, I feel fine."

"And I'd like it to stay that way," she said, holding out the spoonful of red liquid.

"But it has your blood in it," he said, wrinkling his nose.

"I can't believe you're being such a baby about this, Argis," she fumed. "Just take the damned stuff!"

He glared at her, but opened his mouth and accepted the dosage.

"Hey!" he said in surprise. "It tastes like cherries!"

"See?" she smiled sweetly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

As the shadows lengthened over Whiterun, Alorra came to the end of her bottle of medicine. The guardhouse was all that was left, and she met Signy and the children there.

"I'm all out," said Konur, tipping his bottle upside down.

"Me too," said Agna.

"I have a little left," Signy said.

"Good," said Alorra. "Give it to me and I'll finish up here. You three can head back to Dragonsreach."

They left her there and she turned to walk over to the guardhouse.

Her hand was on the doorknob when a warping sound near the gate drew her attention. It was just the same kind of sound the game used when an atronach had been summoned. She immediately went on the defensive and prepared a _firebolt_ spell with her left hand.

_**"So you think you're rather clever, don't you, Outworlder?"**_ a sibilant, sepulchral voice said.

"Who are you?" Alorra demanded. She could see nothing in the shadows by the gate, but she _felt _something there, and from the sense of dread which threatened to overwhelm her, she had a pretty good idea what it was.

_**"You'll know soon enough,"**_ the voice said. It seemed to be neither male nor female; both, and yet neither. _**"I just wanted a good look at my Nemesis' protégée. I must say, I'm underwhelmed."**_

"What do you want?" Alorra asked firmly, keeping the spell ready, and a tight rein on her panic.

_**"From you? Nothing,"**_ the voice sneered. _**"From your…Superior…much. You may have won this little skirmish, Outworlder, but the real war is just beginning. We'll meet again, trust me on this one. And when we do, I'll crush you, insect, for your impudence."**_

The presence faded and Alorra swallowed hard. Never before had she had direct contact with the Enemy. That he had taken a personal interest in her was both flattering and unnerving. She took a deep breath and entered the guard house to finish what she had come here to do.


	5. Chapter 4

Deum Occidere

Chapter 4

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

Argis found Alorra on the balcony of Dragonsreach, standing at the wall overlooking the tundra heath of Whiterun Hold. She didn't react as he approached, and he wondered if she even heard him.

"I've been looking for you, Bright Eyes," he said, coming up next to her and leaning on the wall. "So's Jarl Torolf. You shouldn't keep a Jarl waiting."

"Mmm," was all she said, staring out at the landscape.

"You okay?" he asked, turning to look at her. She'd been unusually quiet for the last couple of days as they worked to help the last few citizens recover from the measles.

"I'm fine," she said quietly. "Argis, I want to thank you for all your help recently. I couldn't have done it without you."

He glared at her. "You're saying goodbye." It was a statement, not a question. "Does this have anything to do with why you came back to Dragonsreach the other night looking as white as a ghost?"

She gave a mirthless snort. "Did it show that much?" She turned to face him. "Argis, I don't want to put you in any danger. I've got somebody pretty pissed at me; somebody who's more powerful than you can imagine. I don't want him striking out at you, or using you as a hostage to get to me."

"Last time I checked, I made my own decisions where I go," he scowled. "If this…_someone_…wants to hurt you, then I think you need me with you more than ever."

"I don't think he wants to _hurt_ me," she admitted hollowly. "I think he wants to _turn_ me."

Argis thought about that for several long minutes. "Do _you _think he can?" he asked finally.

Alorra looked up at her companion and—yes, she'd use the word—friend. "I'm _afraid _he might," she admitted. "Who knows what I might be forced to do to save those I've come to care about? I care about the people of Whiterun, and I care about Skyrim. I don't want to see it all destroyed."

Argis nodded. "Then take the fight to your enemy," he said.

Alorra gave another chuckle that had no humor in it. "I would if I knew where to start, and if I thought I could win."

"The outcome of every battle is unknown until it's over," Argis said. "Maybe all you need is a strategy."

She thought about that. "Yes," she said slowly. All strategies began with information, with intelligence about the enemy: his movements, his strengths and weaknesses, his methods of operation. "Argis, you're a genius!" she whooped. "That's exactly what I need!" She didn't hesitate this time, didn't think about it. She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek, before racing back to the Main Hall.

For a long moment Argis stood there in bewilderment. One hand slowly rose to touch the cheek she'd kissed. "What did I say?" he wondered aloud.

Jarl Torolf, lord of Whiterun Hold, had insisted on holding a day of recognition honoring Alorra's efforts in saving his people. She hadn't really wanted the notoriety, but could hardly refuse. So many citizens of the city wanted to thank her personally for her help. He also gave her a hefty pouch of coin which she needed badly enough to not turn down.

When she was finally given an opportunity to speak, she accepted the accolades as graciously as she could, taking special care to mention the parts Agna, Konur and Argis had played in helping to find a cure. Argis looked decidedly uncomfortable down at the far end of the table. A small corner table in a dingy inn would have suited him better, and he didn't care to have attention called upon him, but he certainly didn't mind the mead which flowed freely in the Jarl's hall.

The children, however, basked in the glow. Konur sat up straighter and taller, if it was possible, under the praise he received from his mother and father. Agna declared to anyone who would listen that she wanted to be a Healer when she grew up.

By the end of the evening, Alorra found herself made Thane of Whiterun, offered a position at court—which she tactfully turned down—and given Breezehome in which to live.

"It was the home of the Last Dragonborn, when he lived in Whiterun," Jarl Torolf said proudly. "It's only fitting that we give it to _you,_ now, the Savior of Whiterun!"

_At least he's not making me pay for the privilege, like his ancestor did,_ she thought with a touch of amusement. Still, it would be good to have a more permanent base of operations, instead of a room at the inn, or a corner of Dragonsreach, where the temptation to get pulled into local politics might distract her from her true purpose here.

The next morning she and Argis made their way down the hill, greeted warmly by everyone they met, and unlocked the door to Breezehome.

"This place is well-named," Argis observed wryly. "He couldn't have given you something a bit more weatherproof?"

"I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth," Alorra commented. "I'm just grateful to have a roof over my head."

"It would be nice if that roof didn't leak," he returned sourly. "I'll get some tools and supplies and see what I can do here. This place is going to need a little work."

He wasn't wrong about that. Though the house was the former home of the legendary Last Dragonborn, not much had been done to it in the last few decades, and 'disrepair' would have been the kindest word to describe it. The interior was filled with dust, dirt, cobwebs and debris: in fact, almost the way it appeared at the start of the game, except this time at least, there were furnishings. Argis wasn't wrong about the roof—it had several holes in it, which she discovered upon climbing to the second floor. There was water damage in several places that would need to be repaired.

Most of the furnishings were exactly as she remembered them from the game, right down to the wall hangings, but they had faded or deteriorated from nearly a century of neglect. It might once have been practically a Shrine to the Dragonborn, but it was _her_ home now, and she intended to make it habitable.

Over the next fortnight Alorra and Argis worked from sun up to sun down cleaning, repairing and restoring the tiny house. Alorra had tactfully turned down Jarl Torolf's offer of a Housecarl, explaining as much of her mission as she felt he would understand. He was more understanding than she expected him to be, and graciously agreed not to assign anyone to her.

For his part, Argis informed Alorra that as far as he was concerned, he was her bodyguard, and would go wherever she had to go. "I'm not going to argue about this, Bright Eyes," he said, intensely. "This is something I have to do. Don't ask me any questions, okay?"

She didn't need to. Alorra already had a pretty good idea there was something in Argis' past that was eating away at him; something that he had failed to do. She'd been there herself and recognized the haunted look in his eyes before he turned away. Without a word, Argis moved his belongings into the Housecarl's quarters upstairs, just off the staircase. Though most nights she threw herself exhausted into the large double-bed in the master's room, there was still that brief period before she fell asleep when she was keenly aware of the man that lay sleeping in the other room not twenty feet away.

_Focus,_ she told herself. _As soon as the house is finished, the real work begins._

The real work, she knew, meant gathering information wherever she could find it. Jarl Torolf gave her unlimited access to his personal library, which was extremely generous of him, considering the fact that while books in the game seemed to be everywhere, in reality they were hard to come by and fragile.

She didn't really think she would find very much in the books, however. The Enemy didn't work that way. He preferred to use minions to do his work, and his existence had never been mentioned in any of the lore of Tamriel set forth by the creators of the game. No, she was truly on her own here, floundering in the dark. She had to keep her eyes and ears open to any and all rumors and reports of strange happenings.

Argis volunteered for this duty when she suggested it.

"I can find out what the innkeepers know," he said. "A lot of people come through their doors. If something odd is happening somewhere in Skyrim, sooner or later the publicans hear about it."

"I'll keep talking to the merchants and farmers," Alorra said. "And the next time the Khajiit come around, I want to talk to them, too."

"A lot of people still blame them for the plague—I mean, the measles," Argis pointed out. "They may not be welcomed back here."

"I have to try," she insisted. "I'll keep spreading the word that they're not responsible. I think in time the citizens here will believe me."

In spite of the overwhelming pressure of trying to complete her mission, Alorra made time each day to walk around Whiterun and meet with the people. She spent time at the Temple of Kynareth, which now had three new priests in residence, offering her healing skills if they were needed.

_Cressida's Cauldron_ was taken over by Cressida's granddaughter, Nimue, and soon the alchemy shop was up and running again. Nimue was older than Alorra appeared to be, being almost forty years of age, and she decided against changing the name of the shop.

"It's been _Cressida's Cauldron_ for so long," she laughed. "Folks around here would still keep calling it that even if I did change the name."

The general goods store also re-opened, and the proprietor looked so much like Belethor from the game that once again, Alorra felt certain he had to be a descendent. Florian was quick to acknowledge that his store had been family-owned for four generations. He was also just as sleazy as his ancestor. "If there's anything I can help you with," he leered, "_anything_ at all, you just let me know."

So far, no one had heard of any rumors of strange occurrences or unusual activity. Argis didn't have much better luck. "There's nothing going on out there, Bright Eyes," he reported. "Looks like your Enemy has gone into hiding."

"That's part of _his_ strategy," she confirmed. "Lay low and wait for everyone to relax their guard."

Argis nodded. "If I was an evil overlord, it's what I'd do."

One morning, a few days later, Alorra suddenly remembered her promise to Hjalmar, the innkeeper at Rorikstead. She mentioned it to Argis as they broke their fast.

"That's a lot of territory to cover," he said doubtfully. "They could have gone anywhere after they got married. Maybe the old man only hoped they'd come back to Rorikstead. There's not much there for a young couple just starting out."

"I promised," Alorra said stubbornly. "I have to try."

Argis sighed. They'd just gotten settled in, too. "When do you want to leave?"

The Temple of Mara, where all young couples in Skyrim went to get married, was located in Riften, the capital city of the Hold known, ironically enough, as The Rift. The game never prepared Alorra for the stench of stagnant canal water and rotting fish which permeated the air.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed. "How do the people here get used to that?"

"I think they're born without the ability to smell," Argis drawled. "Let's not spend any more time here than we have to."

The Temple was situated near Mistveil Keep on the eastern edge of Riften. A wooden boardwalk bordered the canal on both sides, with causeways crossing it here and there to allow people to access the center of town. Below this, Alorra knew, at the water's edge was the Ratway.

Alorra and Argis headed directly for the Temple. She'd played the game often enough to know that Riften was home to the Thieves' Guild, and she kept a firm hand on her belt pouch full of coins. Once inside the Temple, she relaxed a bit and sought out the priest in charge.

"Are you two looking to get married?" the young man smiled, introducing himself as Perronel.

"What?" Alorra blinked. "Married? No!" She failed to keep a blush from rising in her cheeks and fought to keep her voice under control. She refused to look at Argis to see what his reaction had been. "We were looking for information on a young couple who were supposed to have come here about six weeks ago: Muiri and Hamund, from Rorikstead. Do you remember them?"

Perronel thought for several moments. "Hmmm….we haven't had that many marriages in the last couple of months. Yes, I think I do remember them. She was a very pretty dark-haired girl with lively brown eyes and a bubbly personality. He was more subdued, but a fine-looking young man—tall, blonde and burly. He was absolutely smitten with her."

"So you married them?" Alorra clarified.

"I did, and they stayed the night at the Bee and Barb before they went home."

"They said they were going home?" Argis asked. "You're sure of that?"

"Pretty sure," Perronel said. "The young man, Hamund, said he was going to purchase some land and they were going to set up their own farmstead there."

"Thank you," Alorra said. "You've been very helpful." She gave him a small donation of coins from her pouch.

They left the Temple and headed back out into the streets of Riften.

"Where to now?" asked Argis.

"The Bee and Barb," said Alorra. "Let's see if the innkeeper remembers them staying there."

The Argonian behind the counter was not Keerava, but in Alorra's limited experience, most Argonians looked the same to her. The sign outside claimed the proprietor's name was Kaneesha.

"If you've got money I'm listening," the lizard-girl said, "otherwise, don't waste my time."

"Just as charming as Keerava," Alorra couldn't help blurting out.

"Hold your tongue, fire-head," Kaneesha hissed. "How dare you insult my egg-mother that way?"

This was not starting well. "I humbly beg your pardon," Alorra said, giving a slight bow. "I meant no disrespect."

"Well," the Argonian said slowly, "I'll let it pass this time. You're too young to have known her anyway."

_You have no idea,_ Alorra thought, but kept the words to herself this time. "I was hoping you could tell me something about a young couple who came to Riften a few weeks ago to get married. I'm told they stayed here."

"I get a lot of people through here," Kaneesha said indifferently. "And you smooth-skins all look alike to me."

_Okay, I suppose I deserved that, _she thought in amusement.

"The girl was dark-haired with a…bubbly…personality," Alorra said. "The young man was tall, blonde and muscular."

The Argonian sniffed. "That could describe any number of my patrons," she sneered.

Argis leaned forward from behind Alorra and rumbled, "Maybe this would help jog your memory." He placed a handful of gold coins on the counter, which the lizard-girl quickly palmed and put in the pocket of her apron. Alorra pulled a moue with the corner of her mouth. She should have thought of that herself.

"Hmmm….yes, now that I come to think of it, I _do_ remember that young couple," Keerava's daughter mused. "Very much in love, they were; talked about buying a farm or something back home."

"Did they leave Riften?" Argis asked.

"They didn't end up in the canal, if that's what you're suggesting," Kaneesha snapped. "Yes, as far as I know, they left Riften to head back home. That's all I know."

"Thanks," he rumbled, tossing her one more coin which she caught on the fly. He guided Alorra out of the Bee and Barb.

"I should pay you back for the coin you just spent," Alorra said. "I should have realized she wouldn't give up information for free."

"Forget about it, Bright Eyes," Argis said. "You're too young to know that's how the world works."

"I'm a lot older than I look, Argis," she said cryptically, but he didn't inquire further and she didn't offer any more explanations.

"Now what do we do?" he inquired. "They could have taken any number of routes back to Rorikstead."

"Let me think for a minute," she said, sitting down on a bench nearby. He remained standing, patiently waiting for her.

In the game, she always had an arrow to point her in the direction of her objective. She didn't have that now. In the game, if she wanted to find the easiest way to get to a location, she would have used—

"That's it!" she grinned. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the young couple she'd never met. She only had their descriptions, but she desperately wanted to find them, or news about them. She opened her eyes and stood up, summoning the energy within her. She gestured with her hands and spoke a single word: _"Seek!"_

A purple-white vapor trail emanated from her and roiled forward, leading to the gates and beyond.

"What the—" Argis exclaimed, startled.

"There's our trail," Alorra said, satisfied. "Let's follow it!"

Her _seeking_ spell only lasted for an hour before it faded, but they made good time and covered a lot of ground before she had to re-cast it. Alorra decided against taking a carriage back to Rorikstead to follow her trail. At any point it might have veered away from the carriage route, depending on what had happened to the young couple. It would be better to follow it on foot. She would have preferred horseback, but didn't have enough money for two.

All day long they followed the trail westward, allowing the purple-white vapor to lead them to their goal. They were losing the daylight when Argis finally called a halt.

"How much longer do we follow this?" he groused. "Are we any closer to learning something useful?"

"We'll keep following it to the end, Argis," Alorra said firmly. "It's the only way we're going to find them."

"Well, unless you can see in the dark, Bright Eyes, we're going to have to stop soon and make camp somewhere," he pointed out. "We're sitting ducks out here for any wildlife that thinks we're food. Not to mention any bandits that think we might be an easy target."

Alorra sighed. "You're probably right, Argis. Where should we set up?"

He scanned the area. "That hollow over there is probably the best place," he said. "There's not much around here. We'll have the bluff at our backs, and it offers a little bit of protection from the wind."

"No fire?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It might keep the animals away, but it's a beacon for bandits."

"We'll have to chance it, then," she said. "I'm not a Nord, like you. I feel the cold right down in my bones."

They quickly set up camp, clearing an area for a small fire and eating a quick meal of dried meat, fruit and bread washed down with ale for Argis and water for Alorra.

"You don't drink, do you, Bright Eyes?" he asked her, curious.

"Of course I do," she said, grinning. "I have water."

"Not what I meant," he growled, "and you know it. I meant you don't drink ale or wine or mead."

"I have, in the past," she admitted. "But I feel this time I need to keep a clear head, and my wits about me."

"'This time'," he repeated. "What do you mean by that? Just who _are_ you?" He gave her a penetrating look. "Out with it," he said sternly. "I think I'm entitled to know."

Alorra sighed in frustration. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

She blew out another impatient breath. "Okay, I'll tell you, but try to keep an open mind."

He did try, but some of the things she told him were beyond his comprehension. He let her go on, just hoping to keep up with the important points.

"So…" he mused slowly. "You're actually not this young, beautiful girl I see in front of me, but a seventy-year-old grandmother?"

"No!" she glared. "I mean, yes, that's who I was in my last life." _Did he just call me 'beautiful'?_

"And you've lived all these different lives before, but never remembered them until now?"

"I wasn't a full Agent until now," she explained. "I told you, the Birthing process wipes our memories."

"And you've been sent here from some other place where this is all just a game?" That was the point he found hardest to believe. "None of this is real?"

"That's not what I said!" she denied, irritably. "Tamriel is real; you're real. _All_ of this is real. But in the world I came from it was a form of entertainment."

"Am I entertaining you now?" he drawled, and she caught a glimmer of amusement in his golden eyes.

"You son of a bitch!" she glared. "You're making fun of me now!"

"A little," he couldn't help chuckling, then he sobered. "But seriously, I can't understand half of what you said. What I do know is this: you're a good person, Bright Eyes, and you want to help. There aren't too many people like you in the world. If there really _is_ some big, bad, evil thing that wants to destroy my world, and you've been sent from wherever it is to try to fight it, then I'm with you."

"In spite of the fact I'm an Outworlder?" she said, recalling the name the Enemy had given her.

"Or maybe because of it," Argis shrugged. "If this was all a game to you before, you're going to need help adjusting to this reality. And maybe it might help if there's one person you can talk to who knows your secret."

She couldn't argue that point.

"Then since we're sharing secrets," she began tentatively, "why not tell me yours?"

He stiffened and she immediately regretted her words. "What makes you think I have secrets?" he demanded guardedly.

"Everyone has secrets, Argis," she insisted. "_Everyone._ Some more than others. Jarls and courtiers usually have a closet full."

He chuckled wryly and she felt the tension break. "That's for sure," he rumbled. He blew out a breath and said, "Alright, but it's not pretty. This happened about eight years ago. You'll probably think twice about wanting someone like me watching your back."

"I'll decide that," she said quietly, and listened as he began his tale.

_"We have to take out the Hagravens if we're going to clear this Redoubt, Argis," his Thane told him._

_ "My Thane, there are at least three of them in there, and they probably have a Briarheart with them. We should come back with reinforcements."_

_ But Thane Berend wouldn't be swayed. The young man was filled with stories of honor and glory fed to him by his hero father, Lord Berwick. The elder had spent a lifetime fighting Forsworn in the hills of the Reach, winning his title from the Jarl and his fortunes from the plunder of the ruins inhabited by the renegades and their filthy half-human associates._

_ Argis had been proud to be assigned as Housecarl to young Thane Berend who had proven himself during the Forsworn Uprising five years before, and had been awarded a title in his own right. This was Argis' first assignment as a Housecarl, and he genuinely liked the rash young man to whom he owed his allegiance. But he soon found out that Berend was a glory-seeker. It didn't matter how well he'd fought during the Uprising, he was continually looking for ways to accrue more honor upon himself._

_ "We don't need reinforcements," he said disparagingly now. "Between the two of us we ought to be able to handle them. I'm worth at least three. Let's go." He pierced Argis with a keen look. "Unless you're scared?"_

_ Having his courage called into question by his Thane nearly undid Argis. This was his first assignment and he didn't want to screw it up._

_ "No, my Thane," he said, gripping his sword tighter. "I am your sword and your shield."_

_ "Good," smirked Berend. "Let's go!"_

_ It had been a debacle. They were lured into a trap set by the Briarheart and found themselves not only fighting him and his squadron of Forsworn, but three Hagravens as well, who continually threw balls of fire at the two men caught in a dead-end canyon with no other way out but through the gauntlet of enemies behind them._

_ Berend fell just as they had nearly reached safety, and Argis swooped his Thane up onto his back to carry him the rest of the way. Only when he felt he'd put enough distance between himself and the Forsworn did he stop to rest. And it was only then that he realized it was already too late; his Thane was dead._

_ The young man's father didn't see it as a failing of judgment on his son's part. He blamed Argis._

_ "You were his Housecarl!" Lord Berwick raged. "You were supposed to guard him with your life! How is it that you have returned and my son is dead? Explain that to me!"_

_ Argis stammered and stumbled over his words, but the man was too grief-stricken to listen._

_ "Get out!" he stormed. "You're not worthy of being a Housecarl! I dismiss you from my service! Go fall on your sword somewhere, but get out of my sight! Oh, my son….my son!"_

"I've been a mercenary ever since," Argis finished, taking a long pull from his ale bottle.

"Wow," Alorra breathed. "That was pretty harsh of him. How could you be blamed for his son's foolishness?"

"I was sworn to protect him," Argis said steadily, not looking at her but at the fire. "I failed."

"That doesn't mean you can protect him from his own stupidity," Alorra said drily. "You tried, at least. You tried to persuade him to wait and he wouldn't. The fault is not yours."

"That's not how his father saw it," Argis murmured.

"Then his father was just as much a meat-head as his son," Alorra said sharply. "All you can do is what you _can_ do," she said. "It's the fact that you _did_ try that's important." _It's more than I did,_ she thought, but kept that to herself.

Argis took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Thanks," he said, "but it's going to take a while before I can accept that for myself."

"So in the meantime, you're going to mope about it?"

"Mope?" he said sharply, with indignation. He glared at her. "Who said I'm moping?"

"I did, if you continue to let it bother you," she insisted. "It's in the past, Argis. You can't change what happened. You can only learn the lesson from it and move on. In each life I've lived, I've had a lesson to learn, to bring to my next life. Before now, I was never aware of those past lives, but the lessons remained and were built into my character."

"And what lesson did your last life teach you?" he asked, curious.

She smiled. "Laugh," she said.

"That's it?"

"That's it. It's a big lesson for a lot of people to learn," she explained. "So many people go through their lives so seriously. Humor gets us through the rough times. You have to take time to find humor in life; you'll never get out of it alive, you know."

He blinked at her, then a smile slowly spread over his face and he began to chuckle. "That's pretty good, Bright Eyes, you know that?" he grinned.

She grinned back. "I know."


	6. Chapter 5

Deum Occidere

Chapter 5

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

Alorra insisted on taking her turn standing watch while Argis slept, and he reluctantly agreed, after making her promise to wake him after four hours.

"I think I know you well enough to know you'll keep a promise if I get you to say the words," he grinned.

In a fit of pique she childishly stuck her tongue out at him.

"Don't stick it out there unless you intend to use it, Bright Eyes," he leered, dangerously, chuckling wickedly as she blushed to the roots of her hair. He lay down on his bedroll, still in his steel armor and was soon fast asleep.

Why, oh why did this body of hers blush so easily? It wasn't as if she hadn't had sex before; she had, just not with this body. So why did the thought of using her tongue on him make her blush like a schoolgirl? She decided it might be safer not to pursue that particular line of thinking.

Instead, to pass the time and help her to stay awake, she practiced conjuring an ethereal bow with arrows. When she finally managed to get one that didn't turn to vapor in her hands, she picked a knot on a tree just at the edge of their firelight and spent time trying to hit it with her arrows. It was quite a while before she was able to hit the knot consistently. She had played around with archery in one of her past lives, but until now it had never meant the difference between life and death, as it well might here.

By the time she woke Argis to take his turn at watch, she felt confident she would be able to cast the spell again, if needed. Whether she would actually be able to hit anything with her conjured arrows was another matter altogether.

Argis woke her as the sun began to brighten the sky. It hadn't emerged over the hills to the east, yet, but they quickly broke their fast and their camp and set off as soon as they could, following Alorra's _seeking_ spell.

It was just before midday when they pulled up just short of a ridge. Argis held up his hand and motioned her to stay put while he crept up the hill to peer over the top. For the last half hour the color of her vapor trail had intensified, and she knew they were getting close. She'd said as much to her companion, and for that reason, when they knew they had almost reached their goal, Argis cautioned her to let him scout ahead.

The plume of purple spilled over the top of the ridge and cascaded down to a small cave opening across a clearing riddled with streamlets and ledges. Two black-robed men stood guard at the entrance.

Alorra crawled up beside him to have a look for herself.

"How come they can't see your trail?" Argis whispered.

"Because it's my spell, not theirs," she replied.

"Well how come I can see it?" he countered.

"You're on my side," she answered. He nodded, satisfied.

"Well," he commented, speaking in a low rumble, "that's where Muiri and Hamund ended up."

"We have to go in," she said. He nodded again.

"I figured as much. Stay behind me once we're inside."

"Fine, but let's take out the two outside as quietly as we can," she said, indicating the two sentries lingering near the cave entrance.

"I can do that," he said, shrugging his bow off his back.

"So can I," she replied, with more confidence than she felt.

Ducking back behind the hill, Alorra cast her ethereal bow and arrows and readied them before creeping back to the top of the ridge. At Argis' nod they let fly their arrows, his steel one, and her ethereal one.

Both arrows struck true, and the two men guarding the cave entrance sank to the ground with barely a whimper.

"Nice shooting!" Argis praised. His estimation of her rose again. He hadn't known she could do that.

"I wish I didn't have to," she said sadly. "I don't like killing."

"Better get used to it, Bright Eyes," Argis said flatly. "This is your reality now. Do you honestly think these two would have let us just walk in here?"

"No," she admitted. "But it doesn't mean I have to like it." She took a deep breath. "Come on, let's see if Muiri and Hamund are here."

They entered the cavern and Alorra waited for a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She would have liked to fire off a _Candlelight_ spell, but until they knew what they were facing, she didn't want to give their position away.

Argis moved slowly ahead of her, and more quietly than she would have expected from a man clad mostly in steel. His sword was out now, the bow having been replaced in its customary spot on his back. Alorra kept her ethereal bow at the ready and kept pace behind him as quietly as she could. They followed the cavern as it narrowed down to little more than a tunnel through which they had to crouch to pass. Alorra could hear the sound of water from somewhere ahead, and a pale, faint bluish light glowed from somewhere beyond the bend of the tunnel.

As they turned a corner she could see glowing mushrooms clinging to the tunnel walls. As urgent as their quest was, Alorra couldn't help stopping to pick them. Argis moved on ahead of her and she hurried to catch up once she stowed the fungus in her backpack. She might never get another chance to gather any, she thought, and they were definitely ingredients with magical properties.

Several yards further on Argis stopped just short of an opening which widened into a large, well-lit cavern. Alorra heard voices from somewhere ahead of them.

"For the glory of Melek Taus," a male voice droned.

"This we do in his name for his honor," said another.

_Melek Taus?_ Why did that name fill her with dread? She didn't think she'd ever heard it before, but it foreboded malevolence. She peered past Argis' shoulder and saw a stone table, similar to the one on which she'd awoken to this world, surrounded by candles. Two men in black robes were chanting, with daggers raised. On the table, secured by chains, was a blonde woman, stripped naked and gagged with a dirty cloth stuffed in her mouth. Grunts and moans came from her as she writhed and struggled against her bonds.

"Argis!" Alorra exclaimed in a whisper.

"Already on it," he growled, rushing forward.

"No! Not that way!" she cried. _Idiot!_ she thought. _They might kill her anyway!_

Argis roared in fury as he ran toward the altar. "I'm gonna cut you in half!"

Gritting her teeth in frustration, Alorra loosed an arrow from her ethereal bow. She missed the priest closest to the girl, however, and her arrow dissipated against the stone wall behind him.

Drat! This was not the time to be missing! She took more careful aim with her second shot, while the priest seemed to be rushing through his incantations to get to the part where he could make the sacrifice. Alorra loosed a second arrow, but hit the dagger instead of the priest. It went spinning through the air and landed several feet away in a mushroom-filled corner of the cavern.

_Well, that works, too,_ she thought.

The priest facing Argis had dropped his dagger and was keeping a shield up with one hand while simultaneously shooting bolts of ice at Argis. The big Nord grunted every time one pierced him, but continued to advance on the necromancer and swung with his sword. It was over very quickly, thin woolen robes unable to withstand sharpened steel.

The other priest turned his attention to Alorra. _"You!"_ he exclaimed, recognition in his gaze and voice. That unnerved her. She didn't know this man. How could he know her?

He pointed both hands at her and channeled pure electrical energy at her. Alorra suddenly went rigid as every nerve in her body seized. Her ethereal bow vanished as pain suffused her entire being. Concentration was impossible. She couldn't gather enough of her own energy to counter what the necromancer was doing to her.

"We were warned you might try to interfere!" the man gloated, moving closer, but keeping the electrical current focused on her. "Lord Melek will be pleased to know we've eradicated you this day!"

"Think again, skeever-brain!" Argis roared as he brought his sword down for a mighty blow to the man's back. Instantly the electricity died and Alorra sank to the ground, unable to move. Argis drew back and with one swift motion decapitated the black-robed priest.

The blonde girl on the altar was screaming something unintelligible behind the gag, and for a moment Argis was torn between releasing her, or checking on Alorra. Glancing swiftly around, he could see another tunnel beyond a short ramp leading deeper into the cave complex. Since this girl was blonde, not dark-haired, he knew it couldn't be Muiri, which meant they would have to keep going further in. He made the choice to check on Alorra first, since the sacrificial victim was safe enough where she was for the moment.

As he reached her, feeling began to return to Alorra's extremities in a painful, pins-and-needles fashion.

"Ohhhh," she moaned as she sat up. "The game didn't prepare me for _that!_"

Relieved, Argis said sharply, "You're going to need better armor than that dress if you're going to go up against necromancers again."

"You're preaching to the choir, Argis," Alorra said shakily. "How is the girl? Did we save her?"

"She's fine. We'll cut her loose in a moment. I just want to make sure you're okay. That looked painful."

"Trust me, it was," she said ruefully, getting to her feet. She wobbled over to the altar, leaning on Argis' arm for support.

"Hush!" she told the girl, who was still trying to scream. "We'll get you free. Argis, see if you can find anything for her to wear." He obediently began searching the area while Alorra examined the manacles that held the girl to the table.

Alorra only had a couple of lockpicks on her, the ones she'd acquired when she first woke up in Skyrim, and she had no real idea how to pick a lock. She settled for searching the bodies of the two necromancer-priests. She found several soul gems of varying sizes on both men—including some that were filled—in addition to some gold and gems, and two large brass keys. One of them opened the manacles. She helped the girl sit up and removed the gag from her mouth.

"Ohgodsohgodsohgodsohgods—" the girl moaned.

"Shhhh," Alorra soothed, hugging her close. "You're going to be alright now. What's your name, dear?"

"Elsbet", she stammered, trembling. "Wh-who are you?"

"I'm Alorra," the red-haired girl smiled reassuringly. "That's Argis. We came here looking for two people. Maybe you saw them? A young couple, just married?"

"I don't remember," Elsbet wept. "Those men! They were going to kill me!"

"Hush, now," Alorra soothed as Argis came up with a cloak, a blood-stained tunic and shoes he'd found in a charnel pit on the other side of the cavern. He resolved not to tell Alorra what he'd seen there.

"This is all I could find here," he said, deliberately not looking at Elsbet. "There might be more further in."

"I'm not going back in there!" the girl wailed, near panic.

"No, of course not," Alorra said. "But I need you to tell me what's going on."

As Elsbet broke down weeping again, Alorra reined in her frustration. She needed answers, and right now the only one who could give them to her was having a nervous breakdown—not that she blamed the poor child. The Creator only knew what she'd been through.

Sighing, Alorra drew upon her magical energy once more and breathed, _"Calm."_

In a moment, Elsbet stopped trembling and weeping. "What did you do to me?" she asked, but her voice was much more controlled.

"Just a little something to steady your nerves, my dear," Alorra smiled. "Now, do you think you can remember what happened?"

Elsbet nodded. "Our village was raided the day before yesterday," she said as she quickly dressed herself. Argis tactfully kept his back turned, but Alorra knew he was listening. "The brigands only seemed to be after one thing: young men and women, about my age. They brought us here and put us in cages further back in the tunnels. There must have been fifty or sixty young people at least. It looked like they were collecting them a long time."

"What were they collecting them for?" Argis rumbled.

"Sacrifices, I think," Elsbet said, unable to repress a shudder. "It's what they intended to do to me before you stopped them. Thank you so much for saving my life!"

"Why were they making the sacrifices?" Alorra asked.

"I don't know," she said, shuddering again. "All I know is what the others told me, that they would take a dozen or so from the cages one night a week. They took the ones who gave them the most trouble first."

"Are there other priests back in the caverns?" Argis asked, cleaning his blade on the robes of one of the priests.

"Yes," Elsbet answered, clutching the cloak more tightly around her. "I saw at least a dozen before they brought me out here.

"Did you see a young couple?" Alorra asked. "A dark-haired girl and a burly blonde man, newly married."

"Muiri and Hamund?" the girl asked. "Yes! I was caged with them. They're still back there, if the priests haven't sacrificed them yet. There's another altar further in. They set this one up because their leader said they weren't sacrificing victims fast enough." Her lower lip trembled.

"Who's their leader?" Alorra asked. "Did they ever say his name?"

"I think his name was Ragnvald," Elsbet said. "I'm sure that's the name I heard him called by one of the other priests."

Argis raised an eyebrow at Alorra over his shoulder. She shook her head. It didn't sound familiar to her.

"Where is this Ragnvald now?" Alorra asked Elsbet. "Is he still here?"

"No," the girl replied. "He told them he was going to Winterhold."

"Winterhold?" Argis asked sharply. "Why would anyone go to Winterhold? There's nothing there."

"There's the College," Alorra pointed out.

Argis shook his head. "Not anymore," he said. "About forty years ago there was another Cataclysm, and the whole thing—the College, the town, the people, _everything_—just fell into the Sea of Ghosts. There's literally nothing there now."

Elsbet nodded. "That's true. Most people think the land is cursed now."

"Alright, thank you, Elsbet," Alorra said, troubled. "Can you find your way home from here?"

"Yes," she nodded. "And thank you again!" She left the cavern at a run and didn't look back.

"What do you think?" Argis asked. "Do we keep going through the tunnels here, or head to Winterhold."

"Muiri and Hamund may still be here," Alorra said. "At the very least, my seeking spell indicated this is where they ended up. And we can't leave this nest of necromancers to prey on anyone else. We have to clean house."  
Argis gave a feral grin. "I was hoping you'd say that." He hefted his sword and pointed toward the earthen ramp. "That looks like the way to go."

Alorra took a deep breath. "Let's do this, then!"

As they moved quietly through the next tunnel, Alorra thought about what she'd learned so far: young people were being sacrificed to someone—or some_thing_—called Melek Taus. This man named Ragnvald seemed to be the one in charge, and he'd gone to Winterhold, which was now sundered. That in itself was a huge disappointment to her. She'd hoped to be able to visit the College and browse through the library. The loss of all that knowledge was devastating.

Alorra had a sinking feeling she'd already met this Melek Taus in her confrontation with the Enemy at the gates of Whiterun. Was that the name he was using here? It seemed very likely. The name had never appeared in any of the lore of the game.

But why were the necromancers sacrificing the young people? That didn't make sense. The Enemy preferred converts, not sacrifices.

Argis had stopped in front of her, and she nearly plowed into him.

"Hey! Watch it!" he growled.

"Sorry!" she whispered. "Why did you stop?"

"Have a look," he muttered, gesturing to the cavern beyond.

This one was larger than the other, and was lined with cages filled with dejected young people. Several feet above the main floor was a balcony or mezzanine area overlooking the cages. Centered on this was a large sacrificial altar. Beyond the altar, crudely affixed to the wall behind it, was a rough wooden carving of a figure she recognized from another world: a man-like figure with the lower quarters of a goat, with cloven hooves and a long, spear-like tail. The horned head leered evilly over the cavern, lolling out a forked tongue in a most lascivious manner. Brownish stains she recognized as dried blood had been painted on the carving.

"By the gods!" Argis whispered. "What in Oblivion _is_ that thing?"

"That, my friend, is our Enemy, Melek Taus," Alorra whispered back.

Surrounding the altar were six black-robed priests. They looked to be preparing the altar for yet another sacrifice. In the cages below, some of the prisoners whimpered and prayed. Alorra pulled Argis back down the tunnel to consider their next course of action.

"How are we going to do this?" Argis asked. "I don't feel like getting shot full of ice again if I can help it."

"Let me think for a minute," she said, her mind racing.

"Better think quick, Bright Eyes," he said. "Some of those folks are going to get the knife soon if we can't stop those priests."

"I know, I know," Alorra said, frustrated. Her Superior had entrusted this mission to her, having every confidence she could succeed. If the Creator believed she could do it, how could she not believe in herself?

"I think I've got it, Argis," she said. "I just need you to stay back a moment and let me get one spell off, then you can do what you do best."

"I'm all for that, Bright Eyes," he grinned. "I'll follow your lead."

When did she stop feeling irritated at him calling her 'Bright Eyes'? It seemed more like banter than insult now.

_Come on, Alorra, focus,_ she told herself sternly. She crept back to the tunnel's opening. Moving as quietly as she could, and keeping to the shadows as much as possible, she worked her way along the wall to her left where the floor rose to a ledge that ran around behind the cages. Motioning the prisoners to keep quiet, she maneuvered herself into a position where she could see the entire upper level of the cavern.

She summoned the energy within and waited until nearly all the priests were clustered around the altar. Pointing with both hands, she released her power and commanded, _"Hold!"_

Instantly, four of the six men froze in place. The other two shook it off and began to search for the source of the spell. At this point Argis charged in and rushed past Alorra up the ramp to the upper level.

"I'm gonna hit you so hard your ancestors will feel it!" he roared.

Alorra rolled her eyes. _Men and their battle cries_, she snorted to herself.

A bolt of lightning hit the wall next to her, and she quickly brought her mind back to the job at hand. With one hand she put up her _shield_ spell again, large enough to protect both herself and the prisoners. It was becoming easier to create it, each time she did it. With the other hand, she cast through her shield and summoned her wolf familiar once more.

"Go get him, Wolfie!" she ordered. The ghostly lupine howled and followed Argis up the ramp, leaping onto the priest that had cast the lightning bolt at her. Caught off guard, the priest had no defense against the familiar's vicious attacks, and went down with a whimper.

By the time Argis had taken out his first opponent, the other four were rousing themselves from the _hold_ Alorra had put upon them. She wasn't happy that it had lasted only a short time, but at least it had given Argis and the ghost wolf a chance to even the odds. Wolfie leaped at a second necromancer, tearing out the man's throat. One of the others shot the familiar with bolt after bolt of ice until it yelped and winked out.

"I've got more where he came from," Alorra yelled, still keeping the shield up. "Come on back, Wolfie!" She summoned him again and sent him against the necromancers as Argis cleaved his way through two more. In a few moments it was all over. The six priests lay dead.

"Elsbet said there were at least a dozen," Argis called. "Where are the others?"

"They've gone to Winterhold," said one of the prisoners, a pretty blonde girl with short cropped hair. "They've taken the soul gems with them."

Alorra let her shield dissipate. "Soul gems? What soul gems?" she asked as she descended the ramp and came around to the front of the cages. "I found some on the priests in the other chamber." She tested the second key she'd taken from the dead priest in the cage lock and found it opened the door, so she quickly released the rest of the prisoners. Some took off running right away, but a few of the others clustered around to thank her.

A burly blonde man spoke up. "They were capturing our souls in those gems," he said.

Alorra looked at him closely. He had his arm protectively around a curvaceous brunette who clung to him. "Are you Hamund?" she asked.

The young man blinked in surprised. "Yes," he said. "How did you know my name?"

Alorra smiled and turned to the girl. "Then you must be Muiri!"

She nodded, her eyes were red with weeping. "Who are you?" she quavered.

"I'm Alorra," she introduced herself. "And this is Argis. I met your father, Hjalmar, in Rorikstead a couple weeks ago. He's been very worried about you, so I told him I'd try to find you."

The girl's lower lip trembled. "I want to go home," she said. Hamund hugged her closer.

"We'll go home right now, dearest," he assured her. "We'll never leave Rorikstead again."

"Please," Alorra said, "before you go, any of you, can you tell me what you know about this Melek Taus, and about someone named Ragnvald? And why were they collecting your souls in the gems?"

Hamund shrugged. "I don't know much," he admitted. "Maybe some of the others here do. One of the priests you killed over there said they needed young souls because they were the strongest."

"That's right," said the blonde girl. She had a horrible gash on one cheek. It looked fresh and was poorly tended. She couldn't have been older than sixteen or seventeen at the most. Alorra stepped over to her.

"They did this to you?" she asked, sympathetically. The girl nodded.

"I spoke out against them," she said, straightening and clenching her jaw. "They had me in another cell, but I picked the lock and was trying to escape. They caught me and put me in this one that had a better lock." She gave a wry smirk. "I was going to try again tonight, but they started doing the sacrifices, and I couldn't without them seeing me."

Alorra directed a small burst of healing magic at the gash on the girl's face. The blonde girl stepped back, but realized a heartbeat later what this red-haired girl was doing.

"Wow! Thanks!" she grinned. "I thought I'd be scarred for life!"

"What's your name?" Alorra asked.

"Petra," the other girl replied. "I'm from Riften. They waylaid me almost a week ago when I was coming back from a jo—I mean, I was returning home."

Alorra allowed an inward smile. Petra was a thief, and she'd almost admitted she'd been coming back from a job.

"So they were basically harvesting souls," she mused aloud. "Did they say why?"

Everyone shook their heads or responded in the negative.

Hamund spoke again. "All we know is that they were taking them to Winterhold."

"Ragnvald seems to be the High Priest," Petra said. "He's scary. There's a strange look in his eyes, and all the other priests were afraid of him."

"What kind of strange look?" Alorra asked.

"It's hard to describe," Petra said soberly. "All I know is when he looked at me, it felt like he was reading my mind. I didn't want to try anything when he was around." The others nodded.

There was nothing more she could learn here. Alorra urged the young men and women to head home as quickly as possible. Muiri kissed her hand repeatedly and called down the blessings of the gods upon her. Hamund clasped Argis' hand and thanked him for what he'd done. In twos and threes and in small groups, the remaining prisoners left the caverns to return to their homes. Only Petra remained behind.

"So, what happens now?" she asked Alorra.

Alorra hid a private smile. She could sense that Petra was looking for an invitation to join her.

"Well, now you can go home, if you like. Argis and I have to go to Winterhold."

"Winterhold, eh?" Petra mused. "Have you ever been to Winterhold, either of you?"

Alorra shook her head. "No, I haven't. Have you, Argis?"

He frowned. "Like I said before, there's nothing there worth going for."

Petra gave a sly smile. "That may not be entirely true. I've heard there are still barrows to plunder."

"I'm not looking to plunder barrows," Alorra pointed out. "I have to find out what Ragnvald is doing with the soul gems he's been collecting. And I need to find out how Melek Taus fits into all this."

"I'm pretty good at dual-wielding daggers," Petra offered. "And I'm _really_ good at getting into places other people want to keep me _out_ of."

"Like this cage, here?" Argis asked, innocently, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Petra threw him a dirty look.

"That was different," she scowled, rising to his bait. "They got the drop on me with their magic!"

"Seems to me if it happened before it could happen again," he drawled. "I dunno, Bright Eyes," he said artlessly. "What do you think? Can we afford to have someone this careless traveling with us?"

"Look," Petra said earnestly. "I want to get this Ragnvald as much as you do. I owe this guy payback for what he did to me—to all of us. If he's killing young people and taking their souls, and you're going to try to stop him, then I want to help." She stopped and took a deep breath. "Please?" she pleaded. "Let me go with you?"

The look in Petra's clear blue eyes was so sincere that Alorra didn't need time to think. She saw Argis nod and wink from behind Petra's back.

"Of course you can come," she said. "But you'll have to learn to follow orders, understood?"

Petra nodded eagerly. "Absolutely, Boss-Lady!" she agreed. "Let me scrounge around here before we leave. I'm sure I can find some stuff we can use!"

"I'll keep an eye on her Bright Eyes, don't worry," Argis chuckled as he followed after the pretty blonde thief.

Alorra sighed. Wasn't _anyone _around here going to call her by her name?


	7. Chapter 6

Deum Occidere

Chapter 6

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

Petra proved to be as good as her word. The young woman was very resourceful, and managed to find many useful items locked behind an iron gate in a small chamber. The chamber was at the end of a narrow passage the young thief found behind the crudely carved wooden mask. Alorra didn't even want to touch it; it gave her the willies.

In the chamber was a locked chest which Petra managed to open after a half dozen attempts. Inside, they found a large amount of gold and gems, three slim journals, which Alorra took, and an ebony greatsword which even Argis gasped over. "You'd better take that," Alorra told him.

"You'll get no argument from me," he grinned, running his hand almost reverently over the hilt.

Petra also found leather armor and a set of daggers which she claimed were hers. Alorra recognized Guild armor when she saw it and didn't question the girl, allowing her to take them.

"We still need to get you something better than that flimsy dress," Argis insisted.

"What about this?" Petra asked, pulling out a blue robe bordered with tan suede. Alorra could feel the magic emanating from it. It wasn't very strong, but it was better than she had at the moment, which was nothing.

"This will do for a start," she said. "I'm certainly not going to wear _their_ robes, even if they _are_ able to give me some magical protection. I could take one to disenchant, though; I might be able to make my own, then." She rolled one up and shoved it into her backpack.

"You know how to craft armor?" Petra asked, impressed. Alorra shook her head.

"No, but I could enchant something, _if _I knew the enchantment, had something to put it on and had some filled soul gems."

"You've got filled soul gems, though," the other girl said, pointing to the ones they'd set on the table next to the chest.

Alorra's face grew grim. "These were once your fellow prisoners," she said quietly. "I won't use them that way."

Petra went still. "Oh, yeah, right," she replied, abashed. "I forgot. Sorry, Boss-Lady."

"What are you doing to do with them, then?" Argis asked.

"Release them," Alorra said firmly.

"How?"

"Here's how," she said. _Please help me with this,_ she prayed. Once more she called upon her Superior for assistance. She knew a soul could be put into the gems by a _Soul Trap_ spell; what she needed was—for lack of a better term—a _Soul Release_.

She spread the filled gems they had collected on the ground as she prayed for help. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then gradually, the larger gems began to glow, dimly at first, then brighter, in shades of blue, white, teal, and purple. Streams of light coalesced above them into human-like forms, taking the ghostly shapes of the people they had been in life.

_"Free! I'm free!"_ the Souls whispered as they floated upwards, through the cavern roof, and disappeared. In a few moments, it was over. The gems that had contained them crumbled to ash and dust.

"Wow!" Argis breathed.

"That was—beautiful!" Petra agreed, her eyes glimmering. Alorra slumped, drained. Argis was at her side immediately.

"You okay, Bright Eyes?" he asked, helping her to her feet and supporting her.

She smiled up at him. "I will be, thank you. That took a lot out of me, but it was worth it!"

Petra gathered up the gems that hadn't disintegrated. "Why didn't these souls get released?" she asked, handing them back to Alorra.

"I suspect because they're animal souls," Alorra said, returning them to her backpack. "These are mostly petty and lesser sized gems. I only wanted to release the prisoners' souls."

There was a look of wonder in Petra's eyes. "You're a lot more than you pretend to be, aren't you, Boss-Lady?" she asked Alorra. Argis chuckled.

"You have no idea, Pipsqueak," he grinned. "Come on. You two ladies get changed, and then let's get out of here." He left the chamber to wait for them at the entrance.

As they emerged from the cave they could see it was getting to be late afternoon. They wouldn't be able to travel too much farther today before they would have to stop for the night.

"If we put a good foot under us, we might be able to make it to Ivarstead in a couple of hours," Petra said.

"That's the direction we need to go, isn't it?" Argis agreed. "What do you think, Bright Eyes?"

"Sounds good to me," Alorra said decisively. "Let's go."

She really wanted to read through the three journals, but it would have to wait until they stopped for the night, whether that was Ivarstead or a camp of their own making.

Petra scouted ahead, coming back periodically to report anything she'd seen. They managed to avoid some cave bears that way, for which Alorra was grateful. She was tired; releasing that many souls had drained her in an alarming way and she needed to rest. She said nothing to the others, however, and kept herself moving to keep up with Argis' long strides.

_I never had to worry about eating or sleeping in the game,_ she thought wryly. That was part of the fantasy; as the player character she'd _been_ the Dragonborn, and one would have thought that character was super-human, never having to worry about the more mundane side of life. There wasn't even a bathroom, outhouse or chamber pot in the entire game; yet bodily functions were still working perfectly well here, as she was forced to acknowledge on several occasions.

It was perhaps an hour after sunset when they plodded into Ivarstead. All Alorra wanted to do was drag herself into a bed and sleep for a week, but she forced herself to remain alert enough to pay for a large room for the three of them, and to sit through a meal of venison stew served up by Eilert, the innkeeper.

As they ate, Argis questioned the man about any 'unusual happenings' in the area.

"We've had some young people disappearing over the last month or so," Eilert admitted. "No one seems to know what's happened to them."

This was old news, then, Alorra felt. Soon the young people would return and there would be something much happier for the residents to talk about. After their meal they retired to their room.

"You two ladies take the beds," Argis insisted. "I'll be fine on the chair tonight."

"I don't think so, Big Guy," Petra disagreed. "I'm a lot younger than you, and I'm used to roughing it. I'll take the chair."

"What makes you think I'm not used to roughing it, Pipsqueak?" he rumbled dangerously. "I'm not exactly a Greybeard, you know!"

"Enough, you two, please!" Alorra said, raising her voice. "All this nobility is making me ill! Petra, this bed here is wide enough for both of us to share. Argis, you take the other. Now both of you settle in and get some sleep."

"You too," Argis insisted. "You're just as tired as we are."

"I need to read these journals first," Alorra said, shaking her head. "I'm hoping they'll tell me where in Winterhold we have to go, or we could waste too much time floundering around in the dark."

"Can't it wait until the morning?" Argis asked, concerned. She was pushing herself too hard, he knew. He hadn't said anything, but for the last mile before they'd reached Ivarstead, he'd wanted nothing more than to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. The only thing that had stopped him was knowing the argument she would have given him over it.

"It could, but I want to start out as soon as it's daylight," Alorra insisted. "Get some sleep, Argis," she continued. "I'll be fine." She sat at the table and opened one of the journals. Argis frowned, but settled down on the smaller of the two beds. Petra had already flung herself down on the other and her breathing was becoming softer and more even.

Argis remained awake for a long while, in spite of his fatigue, watching the red-haired girl reading by candlelight. More and more he was aware of how important she was becoming to him. He hadn't felt this way about a woman in a long time, and he wasn't sure it was right or proper to start having tender feelings about the woman who was, to all intents and purposes, his employer. Yes, he teased and bantered with her, because she gave as good as she got. He was finding out, the more time he spent with Alorra, just how easy it was to talk to her. She seemed to have a keen insight into the emotions people were experiencing, and she knew almost by instinct the right way to approach them. He'd seen her interact with children and with the Jarl, with merchants and mercenaries, with stubborn people and those paralyzed with fear. He'd seen how she had worked her way into joining the caravan when he'd first met her, and how she had taken charge of the situation in Whiterun.

Yes, there was a lot to admire about Alorra, he realized. She seemed almost unaware of how attractive that made her. He'd never seen eyes that green before, and her long red hair, which she usually kept tied back by a piece of leather, made his fingers itch to run through it. The green dress she'd worn until recently, which she'd purchased from Giaccomo, had clung to her curves in a manner that was very—distracting. He preferred that one to the blue robes she was wearing now; right now she looked like a scholar. The green dress made her look like a very desirable woman.

He firmly clamped down on that kind of thinking. He had appointed himself her bodyguard, and he had a job to do. Even if that meant he had to protect her from himself.

_The word has come down to us at last! We are to harvest souls for the glory of Melek Taus. Ragnvald did not say for what purpose they would be needed. Only that they must be from young men and women. We are to raid villages and haunt the roadways if we must, but Ragnvald must have the souls._

_ 0 0 0 0_

_ Ragnvald visited yesterday. He is not pleased at our progress. "You are too slow," he criticized._

_ We explained that we can only harvest on nights when there are no moons, and this only happens one night a week._

_ "Build another altar," he said, in that deathly calm voice of his. I swear, when he looks at me, I fear he might draw out my own soul! I serve the great lord Melek Taus, but I wish to do it while I am alive!_

_ 0 0 0 0_

_ A thousand souls! How can we gather a thousand? Already the locals are suspicious of the disappearances. I tried to explain this to Ragnvald, but he wouldn't listen._

_ "They are progressing very well at Fellglow and at Morvunskar," he sneered. "Perhaps you are not capable of fulfilling your duties. Perhaps I need someone more…reliable."_

_ I hastened to assure him we would do everything we could with our limited resources to meet our quota. But it isn't fair to compare our operations here with Fellglow and Morvunskar. They have actual fortifications at their disposal. We have a cave._

_ 0 0 0 0_

_ Ragnvald came today to gather the soul gems we've harvested. He was in a foul mood. "Our nemesis has sent an Agent," he snarled at me, as if it were my fault. "Watch for a tall, red-haired girl with green eyes. She calls herself 'Alorra'. She will attempt to interfere. Kill her," he ordered us._

_ I couldn't help but realize that 'Alorra' in the ancient Nordic tongue means 'gift of the gods'. I don't know if Ragnvald knows that, and it didn't seem like the time to bring it up. I assured him we'd take care of her if she showed up here. How much trouble could one mere girl be, after all?_

Alorra closed the last journal and sat for a long moment staring at the candle flame. She wasn't surprised now that the Enemy would have alerted his minions. Forewarned is forearmed, after all. She should have expected it. It just made things a bit more difficult, especially now that they had taken out this band of zealots. Once word of that got back to Ragnvald, he would be on high alert.

She blew out the candle and eased into the bed next to Petra, who was snoring softly. Her mind was still moving along at a rapid pace. Going to Winterhold right now would be pointless. She didn't know where in the Hold they should start. But apparently there were operations similar to the one she and her companions had disrupted in two other locations. She feared there might be more than that. Skyrim was a big place, she was finding out.

Her memory of those locations in the game was sketchy. Fellglow Keep was a name she remembered, but not where it was situated, and she couldn't remember Morvunskar at all. She would have to ask Argis and Petra in the morning. She drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

"Fellglow Keep?" Argis repeated as they left the Vilemyr Inn. "That's in Whiterun, up along the northern reaches where it joins the Pale."

"And Morvunskar is in Eastmarch," Petra added. "Just west of Windhelm, by the river. It's a huge old fort sitting on top of a hill."

Now she remembered! Fellglow Keep had been part of a quest to find some missing books, and Morvunskar had been a location for obtaining the Sanguine Rose conjuring staff.

"It looks like they're harvesting souls in those locations, too," Alorra said.

"Where do you want to go first?" Argis asked.

"Fellglow," Alorra said firmly. "If we can stop them there, we can hopefully get to Morvunskar before word reaches them. And maybe we'll find out where all these soul gems are being taken."

"Let's go!" exclaimed Petra. "I'm ready!" She unsheathed her two long daggers, twirled them through her fingers and resheathed them. Argis snorted.

"Show-off," he growled. She winked at him. Alorra rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long trip.

After some debate over which direction to travel, Argis convinced Alorra and Petra to return to Whiterun.

"We're getting short on supplies," he pointed out, "and we've picked up a few things we could sell off. We don't have to lug everything we find with us, you know." Here he looked pointedly at Petra, whose backpack bulged with loot from the necromancers' cave.

"Hey, it was just lying there," she protested. "It wasn't going to do anyone any good lost in that cave. I'm just keeping it in circulation."

"And lining your pockets in the bargain," Argis teased.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Petra sniffed. "Maybe we can get some armor for the Boss-Lady to wear."

"Not a bad idea," Argis mused.

"I think not," Alorra smiled as they walked. "I'm not used to wearing armor. It would hinder me more than help."

"Well how are you going to protect yourself?" Petra argued. "Spells are fine if you can go in somewhere prepared. What if you get caught off-guard?"

"That's what I have the two of you for," the red-haired girl grinned. "But Argis is right. We do need more food, and I think we should get some heftier arrows for that bow of yours. The steel arrows are fine, but it took too many to kill that bear back there."

"You're right about that," he agreed soberly. "Some heavier arrows would be nice, and a better bow, too. I've had this one so long I've worn a dent in the grip."

"I think we may need to purchase horses, too," Alorra said carefully. "Walking takes too long. I don't know how much time we can afford to waste trying to get from Point A to Point B."

"I thought we were going to Fellglow Keep?" Petra asked puzzled.

"It's a figure of speech," Alorra told her.

"Oh," the young thief said.

"I know horses," Argis said. "They'll be expensive, and we'll have to have tack and grain for them. That will be an additional expense."

"I still want to look into it," Alorra insisted. "We picked up a lot of gold in the necromancers' cave, as well as the other weapons and armor you two aren't using. If we sell off everything we don't need, we might have enough. Maybe we can get a better deal if we tell them we need three rather than just one."

Argis smiled. "Let me do the negotiating, then," he grinned. "I'll get us a good deal."

Lennart, stable master of Whiterun, was delighted to see them again.

"Things have really picked up around here," he smiled. "They're all saying in town that it's because of you, my lady!"

"Please," she insisted. "It's just 'Alorra'. I'm not a high-born lady."

"What can I do for you, then…uh…Alorra?" he stammered.

"I'll handle this," Argis intervened. "Why don't you two go on in and see if you can take care of our other 'business'."

"But we don't have—" she began, but Argis cut her off.

"I said I'd handle it," he insisted, waving her off.

Alorra compressed her lips. She knew that unless they sold some of their goods they wouldn't have enough gold to pay for three horses and all the equipment and feed they would need. She didn't want Argis paying for it out of his own pocket, assuming he had enough on him to do it, but the man had a determined look in his eyes that made her back down. She had no wish to humiliate him in front of the stable master.

"Alright," she acquiesced. "Petra and I will catch up with you later. Come along, dear," she said to the blonde thief.

As the two women approached the main gates of Whiterun, Alorra saw leather tents pitched just outside.

"Khajiit!" she exclaimed delightedly. "I was hoping to get a chance to talk with them!"

"You're in a very small minority, then," Petra drawled. "A lot of people don't trust them."

"Do you?" Alorra inquired, watching the younger girl carefully.

"Sure, as far as anyone can, I guess," Petra replied, and Alorra relaxed. She was hoping there wouldn't be any confrontations. "But if you want to do business with them, you'd better let me handle it. I know how to haggle with them." This was even better news!

"Excellent!" Alorra approved. "Soften them up if you can with some trading, and then I need to ask them some questions."

"You got it, Boss-Lady!" Petra winked.

Watching the little thief negotiate now, Alorra almost felt sorry for R'ezhyk, the Khajiit leader. While the black and white feline was perfectly adept at haggling, Petra was in a class by herself. She finally bargained the Khajiit down to practically his last septim in an effort to trade as much of their plunder as possible.

While Petra was busy with R'ezhyk, Alorra wandered through the rest of the camp. One of the Khajiit was sitting in front of a tent wrapped in a woolen blanket.

"I'm sure you must find the climate here very cold," Alorra said sympathetically.

"It is not the cold one feels," the Khajiit woman told her. "M'kesh is sad; her cub is very sick." She opened the blanket to reveal a tiny kitten weakly suckling at her mother's breast.

"Ohhhh!" Alorra breathed, crouching down on her knees. "She's _beautiful!_" The tiny baby was striped in brown and black, with patches of creamy-colored fur under her chin and on her chest. Her tiny black paws were tipped with bright white. She was about the size of a newborn human baby.

"M'kesh is grateful for your kind words," said the mother sadly. "But one feels this little one may not live to see the next moons' rising.

"What's wrong?" Alorra asked, heartstricken.

"She does not feed well," the mother said. "M'kesh does not know why. Our remedies have had no effect."

_No!_ Alorra thought, desperately. _I'm not going to let this happen!_ "May I?" she asked, holding out her hands.

The Khajiit mother hesitated for a moment, then seemed to make up her mind. She carefully handed her baby over to Alorra.

"What's her name?" the red-haired girl asked.

"R'inaya," the mother replied. "It means 'Summer Hope' in the language of M'kesh's people."

Tiny little R'inaya didn't even seem to notice who held her now. Little whimpers left the furry pink lips, and Alorra felt tears sting her eyes. Forcing herself to focus, she closed her eyes to look deeper into the baby Khajiit, seeking what was wrong. In a moment she found it: a blockage of the intestinal tract. No wonder the baby wasn't eating! She was too full, but nothing was passing through.

Channeling her energy as delicately as she could, Alorra traced a finger on the baby's distended tummy, following the path of the tiny organs, and released the magic with a whispered, _"Heal." _The blockage gently dissolved and began to move more normally through the kitten's digestive tract. Alorra kept the energy going until she was sure the problem was permanently taken care of. The tiny bundle of fur released a huge purr, as well as a _poof_ of foul-smelling air from her tail.

"What have you done?" M'kesh demanded. She reached for her baby, which Alorra surrendered back to her. Little R'inaya opened her still-blue eyes and mewed at her mother. M'kesh gasped, then hugged her baby close.

"You have made her well again!" she cried as the baby Khajiit latched onto her mother's breast and began suckling voraciously. "Why have you done this?"

"Because it was the right thing to do," Alorra smiled, her eyes glistening. "She'll be fine, now, I think."

"M'kesh is more grateful than can be expressed," M'kesh said humbly. "If there is anything this one can do, she wishes for you to name it."

"Well," Alorra said, clearing her throat of the lump that had lodged there. "All I really need is information. I'm trying to find out about a man named Ragnvald, and whether there are any places where young people about my age might have gone missing." _Well, more or less the age I appear to be, _she thought.

"M'kesh does not know," the Khajiit told her with regret. "This one has been so worried for her baby that she has not paid attention to the world around her. Speak with R'ezhyk, this one's mate. He might know."

By this time, Petra was returning with a much lighter backpack and a much heavier belt pouch. Behind her, R'ezhyk gave a startled look at his mate and child and hurried over.

"She feeds?" he exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement.

"The red-haired one has healed her, R'ezhyk," M'kesh said, almost purring. "R'inaya will live!"

The Khajiit leader turned and clasped Alorra's hands in his both of his. "R'ezhyk is most grateful for your help, Healer," he said humbly. "R'inaya is his first-born. R'ezhyk will name you 'friend of the Khajiit'. He will tell all his people. You will receive the best prices, as R'ezhyk would give to his family."

"Are those prices good for what I just sold you?" Petra asked, but Alorra gave her a sharp elbow to the rib-cage. "Oof! Ow!"

"That's very generous of you, R'ezhyk," Alorra thanked him. "I was wondering if you could give me some information?"

"If R'ezhyk knows anything to help the Healer, he will say it," the Khajiit leader promised. "Ask away."

"I would like to know if you've heard the name Ragnvald, or perhaps Melek Taus?" Alorra asked. "And I would also like to know if you've heard of young people going missing around Skyrim."

"Hmm…" the feline mused. "These names do not sound familiar to R'ezhyk," he said at last. Alorra's heart sank. She didn't think he had, but she _had_ hoped. "This other matter," the Khajiit continued, "seems familiar to R'ezhyk. It may be one of our people has mentioned it. This one will ask the other caravans for you," he promised. "We will be here again in a fortnight, and then perhaps, if you are here, we will have some information for you. It is all R'ezhyk can promise."

"That's all I ask," Alorra said gratefully. "Thank you, R'ezhyk. Good-bye. Good-bye, M'kesh!"

The Khajiit waved and bowed as she and Petra made their way up to the gates of Whiterun.

"You didn't have to hit so hard," grumbled Petra, rubbing her ribs.

"There's a time and a place for everything," Alorra chided her. "That was neither."

They sold off the rest of the unneeded weapons, armor and miscellaneous goods at the smithy, which still bore the name _Warmaiden's_, at _The Drunken Huntsman_ and at Florian's general store. Petra flirted outrageously with the smarmy Breton, and Alorra thought her eyes would get stuck in a permanent eyeroll.

"How in the world can you talk like that to him?" she asked the pretty blonde thief as they left.

"All men like to be flattered," Petra shrugged. "Besides, he's got lots of good stuff in there."

Alorra stopped in the middle of the street. "Petra!" she exclaimed in horror. "You didn't—you know—" She made a pinching motion with her hand.

"Boss-Lady!" Petra looked insulted. "I would never do that with you around!"

_That_ left a lot of open area. She knew the girl was a thief, but hoped she might change her ways. "I can't afford to have you thrown in jail, understand?" she said sternly. "No five-fingered discounts when we're in town, got that?"

Petra nodded. "Okay, okay," she promised. "I thought about going back later—"

"NO!" Alorra said angrily. "If you're going to travel with me, that's something I'm going to have to insist upon!"

"I said okay!" Petra said defensively. They walked in silence back to Breezehome.

As Alorra opened the door, Petra commented, "'Five-fingered discount', eh? That's a good one! I'll have to remember that!"


	8. Chapter 7

Deum Occidere

Chapter 7

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

Argis returned to Breezehome about an hour later. Alorra had just returned herself, having purchased some ingredients from Nimue before she closed her shop.

"It's all settled," he told the two women in a satisfied tone. "We can leave in the morning if you'd like. Lennart will have three horses saddled and waiting for us."

"How much?" Alorra asked warily. Argis named a sum that nearly made her head spin. "Yikes," she muttered.

"What's the matter?" Petra asked. "We've got that much, don't we?"

"Yeah, but we'll be eating macaroni and cheese for the next few weeks," Alorra muttered. At their confused looks she shook her head and smiled. "Never mind. We'll manage."

"You're sure you want to do this, Bright Eyes?" Argis asked. "Go up against a fortress filled with necromancers?"

"I have to, Argis, you know that," Alorra said firmly. "Besides, weren't you the one who suggested I take the fight to the Enemy?"

"I didn't mean literally," he drawled.

Alorra grinned. "It's too late to back out now. It's still the best strategy."

Argis ran a hand through his sandy-blonde hair. "Then I guess we'd better get the other things we need in the morning before we leave."

"What about the stuff in the cellar?" Petra asked.

Alorra looked at the girl blankly. "Breezehome doesn't have a cellar," she said.

"Then where does the trap door lead?" the little blonde thief asked.

Alorra looked back at Argis, who shrugged. "I never saw a trap door anywhere when we were cleaning up in here."

Petra gave an exasperated sigh and walked over to the barrels and crates under the stairs. She reached back behind the stack and pushed something on the wall. With a grating sound of stone on stone, the entire floor slid towards the dining room cupboard, blocking the doorway into the alchemy lab. A dark hole was revealed, with a stairway leading down.

_That was never in the game!_ Alorra thought in surprise.

"Have you already been down here?" she asked Petra.

"Of course," the girl replied, "when you were at the _Cauldron._ There's all kinds of stuff down there!"

Alorra tentatively descended, firing off her _Candlelight_ spell as she went. Argis followed her, and Petra brought up the rear. It was a small room, lined with stone, no more than ten feet square.

The first thing she noticed was an enchanter's table, with a basket of soul gems sitting nearby. The second thing that caught her eye was the mannequin, dressed in armor.

"Wow!" Argis breathed. "Is that _dragonscale?"_ He walked over to it, touching it almost in reverence.

"It certainly looks like it," Alorra said.

"Who left all this stuff here anyway?" Petra asked.

Alorra knew there could be only one answer. "The Last Dragonborn," she said simply.

Petra gaped. "You mean the one from the stories?"

The older girl nodded. "The same." She opened a chest and found it filled with gold, jewelry, and gems of every kind. At least she wouldn't need to worry about having enough to live on, for a while, anyway.

"Do we take these things?" Argis asked. There was a hopeful note in his voice he couldn't quite conceal.

"I think we're supposed to," Alorra said. "We couldn't have found this room if we weren't meant to." _Thank you, again,_ she mentally sent out to her Superior.

The room was small and didn't contain very much beyond what they'd already seen. Petra snatched up a bow of elven make when Argis claimed the one of ebony. "It matches my sword," he grinned at Petra when she protested. "I'll take the armor as well."

"You're welcome to that, Big Guy," Petra said as Argis headed back up the stairs. "I'll stick to my leather gear, thank you." She turned to Alorra. "I still don't see anything you can wear," she frowned. "I thought the Dragonborn was Arch-Mage as well?"

"He might well have been," Alorra conceded. "But apparently the robes weren't left here. This was only one of the houses he supposedly owned, after all." _I wonder who owns the others now?_

"Did you look in the other chest over there?" Petra asked. "The long one against the far wall?"

"No, it's locked," Alorra smiled. "Maybe you could—?"

"I'm on it!" the younger girl grinned, and took out her lockpicks. After several attempts, and several broken picks, she finally managed to get it open. "Wow, that one was hard! It must have been a master lock!"

"You did well," Alorra praised. "Maybe it won't be so hard next time. Let's see what this contains." She opened the lid.

The chest was empty except for a long staff topped with a grimacing, three-sided face.

"Ugh!" Petra exclaimed. "What _is _that ugly thing?"

Alorra almost choked. It couldn't be! Yet it most certainly was!

"This is the Wabbajack," she told the blonde thief.

"Wabba-_what?_" Petra frowned.

"A Daedric artifact," Alorra explained. "It's a staff given to the Last Dragonborn by the Daedric Prince Sheogorath, prince of madness. Using this staff produces highly unpredictable results."

"Like what?" Petra asked, a sly gleam in her eye.

"Forget about it," Alorra warned her. "Most of its effects are dangerous. I can understand now why the Dragonborn left it here locked in a master-locked chest."

"Are you going to leave it behind?" Petra asked as innocently as she could. She didn't fool Alorra.

"No, I'm taking it with me," she decided. "I won't use it unless I have no other choice, but I won't leave it here so you can smuggle it out behind my back."

Petra looked affronted and guilty at the same time. "Would I do that?"

"Well," Alorra gave her a keen look. "Wouldn't you?" The younger girl had the grace to look shamefaced.

"Okay, I suppose you're right, I would," she admitted. "But can I try it, just once?" she pleaded.

"Let's wait and see what we get ourselves into, okay?" Alorra said. She knew forbidden fruit was the sweetest; if she had categorically refused to let Petra use the Wabbajack, the younger girl might have tried to sneak a chance later. Alorra removed the Wabbajack and closed the chest, disappointed. She had hoped there might be something she could wear to protect herself. The blue robes she currently wore only gave her a slight boost to her magicka reserves, but did nothing to prevent her from taking damage. And she desperately wanted something along those lines.

Petra climbed back up the stairs, eager to try her new bow before the sun set completely outside. Alorra found a lantern and lit it before her _Candlelight_ winked out.

The arcane enchanter caught her eye and drew her near. Evidently, the Last Dragonborn didn't like traipsing all the way up the hill to Dragonsreach to enchant things when he was in Whiterun. That was probably why the cellar had been built. The Breezehome in the game had no such room.

She studied the table. It looked like the others she'd seen in the game, with the ball of crystal centered at the back between two rows of unlit candles, and above a skull of some undefinable creature. The top of the table was inlaid with the runes signifying the different schools of magic. Unable to resist, she leaned over it and placed her hands on the runed tabletop.

The candles flared into life. The crystal ball swirled with fog. The runes on the tabletop glowed.

Suddenly Alorra felt her mind flood with _all _the possible enchantments: fortification and resistance, damage and absorption, repelling and special effects. The knowledge penetrated her, whirling around in her mind in a confusing maelstrom of arcana. She felt dizzy; she wanted to take her hands off the table, but couldn't. Something held her in place, holding her there until every last enchantment had been absorbed into her. Her vision darkened and she passed out.

She heard the voices first.

"Is she going to be okay?" It was Petra.

"I think so," said a male voice. Argis. "I think she's coming around now."

Alorra made a supreme effort and dragged her eyes open. Her two companions were hovering over her. She was lying on the cold stone floor of the cellar. She struggled to sit up, and Argis assisted her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his golden eyes filled with concern. "When you didn't come back upstairs Petra went down to find out what kept you. She found you on the floor. What happened?"

"I leveled up," Alorra said groggily.

"Huh?" her two companions said together.

Alorra chuckled weakly and staggered to her feet. "It's okay," she told them. "I'll be alright. I don't know what the Dragonborn did to his arcane enchanter, but it packed a whollop!"

Argis eyed the table suspiciously. "Should we get rid of it?" he asked.

"No," Alorra assured him. "I don't think it's going to happen again. I think it was meant for me."

"I'm confused," Petra complained. "What was meant for you?"

"The table imparted the knowledge of enchanting items to me," Alorra said. "_All_ the different kinds of enchantments, and all at once. I don't think it's supposed to do that. In any case, I was overwhelmed and passed out."

"You think the Last Dragonborn set a trap?" Argis asked.

"No," Alorra shook her head. "I think my Boss had something to do with it."

"Wait," Petra said, "_your_ Boss? You work for someone else?"

Alorra sighed. "Yes, dear, _my_ Boss. Come on upstairs, and I'll explain."

Petra seemed a bit more open-minded than Argis had. Perhaps it was because she'd already had experience with the minions of Melek Taus.

"So…Ragnvald works for this Melek Taus, the goat guy," she said, working it out, "and you work for—what did you call him again?"

"I supposed you could call my Boss the Creator," Alorra said. "It's how I've always thought of my Superior. But I don't know if you could confine the description to male or female. The Creator has aspects of both. Usually, when I've had my conversations with my Boss, it's been between lives, in a place where there is no physical form, only energy. That's what souls are, really. Pure energy."

Petra thought about that for a long moment. "So this Melek Taus wants the souls to use their energy," she said slowly.

"What?" Alorra said, startled.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" the little blonde thief said. "That's why he instructed Ragnvald to tell those necromancers to harvest a thousand souls. And if there are more of these guys at Fellglow and Morvunskar, and they've been told to collect a thousand each, then it seems like Melek Taus needs this energy for something big!"

Alorra blinked at the younger girl. _Of course!_ "Petra, you are an absolute genius!" she whooped, throwing her arms around the girl and hugging her.

Argis looked troubled. "What would he need that many souls for?" he frowned. His question sobered both girls immediately.

Alorra had a sinking feeling she knew. "To bring himself here," she said, pensively. "It's really the only explanation that fits."

"And we don't know how many souls he needs to do that, do we?" Petra asked. Both Argis and Alorra shook their heads. "And we don't know where the soul gems are being taken, either, do we?" Again, her friends shook their heads. Petra blew out a heavy sigh. "We've got our work cut out for us, don't we?"

To that, Argis and Alorra could only nod.

Alorra had worked well into the night, despite the urgings of Petra and Argis to get some rest. Her newly acquired skills helped her to lay enchantments on several things, including the green dress and her boots, Petra's bow and several smaller amulets, circlets and rings she found in the chest. Most of the jewelry wouldn't be needed immediately, but she put them in her alchemist's pouch for later. She kept out an amulet to resist shock for herself.

_I'm not going through THAT again!_ she thought to herself, putting it around her neck.

She also discovered that her ability to sense magic in other items had been enhanced; she was now able to figure out exactly what kind of enchantment an item had upon it. The dragonscale armor that Argis now wore was imbued with a charm to recover health more quickly. The ebony bow already had a _Soul Trap_ enchantment, and Alorra asked Argis to carry the empty gems they'd picked up.

"I'm surprised at you, Bright Eyes," he said, quirking a smile. "I would have thought that sort of thing was distasteful to you."

"These are our enemies, Argis," she told him seriously. "I have no qualms treating them the way they're treating others." There was nothing he could add to that, and he accepted the empty gems.

Petra's new elven bow had nothing imbued into it, and she asked for something to help her hit better. "I'm not so good at long distances," she admitted. "I'm better at sneaking in and getting up close; usually from behind."

"I'm glad you're on our side," Alorra grinned, and gave the bow a fortification enhancement for archery.

They set off for Fellglow Keep later than Alorra would have liked, but she really had no one else to blame. After making the enchanted items she had tumbled into bed next to Petra and had slept soundly until the sun was already well along in the sky. By tacit consent and mutual understanding, neither Argis nor Petra disturbed her to wake her up at a more reasonable hour.

The first part of the journey was the most difficult for Alorra. It had been a long time since her soul had been in a body that knew how to ride a horse. This one apparently didn't. Argis and Petra seemed born to it and looked very comfortable in their saddles. Alorra knew she would be sore in the morning, but refused to say anything to the others and made every effort to stay in her saddle and keep up.

As they rode along, Alorra couldn't keep her eyes off Argis' back. The word she felt best described him would have been "badass". The dragonscale armor fit as though it had been made for him, and he proclaimed it to be very comfortable.

"It's lighter than I'm used to," he admitted, "but it's very flexible. We'll see how it holds up in combat, but I'm confident it'll do well. These scales once protected a dragon, after all."

"Were there really dragons in Skyrim, Big Guy?" Petra asked.

"Sure were, Pipsqueak," he rumbled. "Don't you remember your history?"

"Not really," Petra shrugged. "My Ma and Pa didn't really teach me a whole lot, other than what to plant and when to plant it."

"Farmers?" Argis asked.

"Yeah," Petra sighed. "That wasn't what I wanted from life, though, so I left home a couple years ago. I never even told them I was leaving."

"That wasn't very nice of you," he frowned. "They're probably worried sick about you."

"They're probably relieved not to have another mouth to feed," Petra contradicted. "There were fourteen of us."

This surprised the big Nord. "Fourteen? Wow! That's a lot of kids!"

Petra nodded. "I don't think I ever saw my Ma not pregnant," she said. "For the last few years before I left, I could see her getting older and wearing out. I knew I wasn't going to let that happen to me."

"Still," Argis insisted. "She's your mother, and you should have let her know you were leaving. When this is over, you should go see her and set her mind at ease that you're alright."

Petra shrugged, but didn't say anything.

"Are there any dragons left, Argis?" Alorra called up, scanning the sky. That would be _all_ she needed!

"A few," he admitted. "But they usually keep to the high mountain passes and the Throat of the World, now," he continued. "I don't think one's been seen in the lower reaches for the last sixty or seventy years. The Last Dragonborn worked really hard to take out as many as possible before he died."

"I thought some of the dragons were going to reform," she said.

"Reform?" Argis snorted. "A dragon _reform?_ Not too likely! Even after the Dragonborn killed Alduin, there were dozens of them that wanted to take his place."

_So that much is different, too,_ she thought. When she had played the game, she'd had a choice to not kill one of the elder dragons, who in turn agreed to convince the others to turn away from violence against men and mer. Clearly, that had not happened here.

"What do you know about the Last Dragonborn?" Alorra asked.

"About the same as everyone, I guess," Argis replied. "He killed Alduin, World-Eater; he took out the Cult of Miraak, who were trying to bring back one of the ancient Dragon Priests; he destroyed the Vampire Lords of Volkihar; he saved Winterhold—before it slid into the sea—by sealing away the Eye of Magnus; and he helped to put down the Stormcloak Rebellion, killed Ulfric Stormcloak and helped to end the Civil War. What else is there to know?"

"Well, for starters, does anyone know what kind of man he was?" she asked.

Argis shrugged. "He was just a man. An Imperial, I think. I don't remember. He was able to use the Thu'ums, the Dragon Shouts, and he could use magic. That's all I know, really."

"You said your great-grandfather was his Housecarl," Alorra prompted. "Didn't any stories about his travels with the Dragonborn come down through your family?"

"Some," Argis admitted. "But while I'm proud of my ancestor and his service to the Dragonborn, none of the Bulwark's stories are as exciting as the Dragonborn's."

They rode for a while in companionable silence. Away to their right, the White River rushed through its gorge, the sound of crashing water muffled by the distance. To their left, a hill jutted toward the clear blue sky. Alorra pulled her horse to a halt. Argis stopped and turned back to her in his saddle.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Petra pulled her horse to a stop as well.

"Nothing," she assured him. "I was just wondering, isn't there a Shrine to Talos up on that hill?"

Argis shook his head. "I doubt it. The Empire was pretty thorough, getting rid of all those Shrines when they won the Civil War."

"Could we look anyway?" she asked. She couldn't say why, but she had to see for herself.

"Suit yourself," he said, indifferently. "It's on our way."

They came around to the eastern slope of the hill and left the horses with Petra. The rocky outcropping had a level place near the top, and it was here the Shrine of Talos would have been. Alorra climbed up with Argis close behind her. When she entered the clearing, she could see the flat stone plinth that had been the base, but the statue to the hero-god of Skyrim was gone. It saddened her in a way she couldn't express. Talos represented freedom of worship in the game, and while Alorra herself didn't follow him, she keenly felt a sense of loss on behalf of those in Skyrim who had. She knelt down next to the stone base. Argis stood by and watched her without speaking.

"It was wrong," she said finally, quietly. "The government shouldn't have the right to tell people who they can and can't worship."

"They do here," Argis said, just as quietly. He walked a few steps away and picked a blue mountain flower, setting it on the stone plinth. Alorra picked a purple one and laid it next to his. They quietly descended the hill and remounted their horses, continuing on towards Fellglow Keep. Petra tactfully said nothing.


	9. Chapter 8

Deum Occidere

Chapter 8

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

**(A.N.: My apologies for such a long chapter, but there was so much to say here, and I couldn't find a good place to break it up. Enjoy!)**

Fellglow Keep sprawled against the rising stony hill behind it, but Alorra could see at once that many things had changed since she had played the quest in the game. For one thing, someone had been busy rebuilding the wall around the ancient fortification. From their vantage point, hidden in a thicket of thorny bushes not far away, the three companions could see the courtyard beyond, which had been cleared of much of its debris.

The garden area near the small pond had been expanded, and the watchtower near the open archway had been fortified. The gateway itself had been shored up and fitted with an iron portcullis.

Patrolling the walls and the courtyard were no less than a score of bandits and necromancers.

"This won't be easy," Argis muttered, discouragingly. "How are we going to fight that many? There's only the three of us."

"We could pick them off with our bows," Petra suggested.

"That would alert the rest of them," Argis said, shaking his head. "Those bandits would come right out looking for us, and the mages would just start lobbing spells from a distance."

"If we split up, we could attack them from three different angles," Petra insisted, but Argis still didn't like their chances.

"What do you think, Bright Eyes?" he asked, turning to Alorra.

She considered. Argis was right; there were way too many enemies hanging around outside. Letting any of them escape to report back inside was not a good option. "We're going to need something that can take out as many of them as possible all at once," she said.

"Do you have any _Fireball_ spells you can use?" Petra asked.

Alorra shook her head. "I probably could, but the noise would attract the attention of anyone inside. I'd like to do this stealthily, if I can."

"I'm all for stealth," Petra grinned. "Would you like me to handle this?"

Alorra gave the girl a considering look. "Can you?" she asked. "Without getting yourself hurt, that is?"

Petra gave a wolfish grin. "This is what I'm trained to do," she said. "They'll never know I was there. Just sit tight and let me do what _I_ do best!"

The red-haired girl made her decision. "Alright, we'll try it," she said, firmly. "Take this with you, but _only_ use it if you have to." She gave Petra the Wabbajack. "I'm not exactly sure what it will do."

Petra's eyes gleamed.

Argis frowned. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea," he rumbled.

"Don't worry, Big Guy," the little thief said cheekily. "I'll save a couple for you!" She slipped away into the underbrush.

"Now what do we do?" Argis groused.

"We wait," Alorra said simply. She had to put her faith in Petra, and trust that the girl could do what she claimed.

Petra kept to the long grasses as much as she was able, until she reached the outer wall. Pressing herself against the stone, she worked her way around to the eastern side of the ruins, where the afternoon sun was already lengthening the shadows there.

Several times she froze, as sentries prowled the wall above her head. When they moved on, so did she. Eventually she found a place where she could climb the broken stone and get to the top of the wall. She found herself in the northeastern most corner of the Keep, overlooking the entire area. Several yards away one of the sentries leaned against a wooden support post, clearly bored with his duty.

It was the work of a moment to slip up behind him and slit his throat. Petra felt no remorse. Though she acted carefree and behaved herself around Alorra, she had been trained for this: moving silently, getting in and out unseen, and taking out any opposition in the quickest, most efficient way possible with the least amount of disturbance. She dragged the body behind some tumbled masonry and moved on without a backward glance.

Again and again, the scene repeated itself along the wall, with Petra single-handedly eliminating the enemy from their positions of surveillance. Eventually, however, the results of her handiwork were noticed. One of the necromancers came over and called up to the man she had just killed. Petra crouched behind the wall, waiting.

"What's wrong with you, you fool!" the mage said, irritated. "Answer me!"

Still receiving no reply, the man grumbled, and Petra heard him moving toward the stone steps that led to her position. Before the wizard could reach the top, Petra glided over to a pile of crates and hid behind them. The necromancer stepped out onto the walkway, looking around for the guard that should have been there. He stopped, startled, when he saw the body lying in a puddle of its own blood.

"By Melek's hand!" the man exclaimed.

"Nope," said Petra, rising up behind him. "By mine!" She shoved one dagger into his back and drew the other across his throat. The man gurgled and sank to his knees. Petra pushed him off her blade and wiped them both on the black robes.

She was running out of time, she knew. There were still too many enemies in the courtyard, and they were becoming suspicious. It was time to do something drastic. She pulled the Wabbajack off her back where she'd holstered it next to her bow.

"Alright, staff of chaos," she grinned. "Let's just see what you can do!"

Petra worked her way along the wall until she came to a vantage point where she could see the entire courtyard spread out in front of her. The bandits and necromancers below were hurrying around, searching; searching for _her,_ she knew, though they didn't know it.

She hefted the staff. _Now, how do I make you work?_ she wondered. Shrugging, she stood up and called out, "Hey, everybody! Look what I've got!" All eyes turned to her, and the men below began pointing and shouting. Petra leveled the staff in a sweeping motion and yelled, _"WABBAJACK!"_

The effect was instantaneous and impressive. Every single figure in the courtyard below dropped to the ground, motionless. Petra stared in wonder. "Wow!" she said, "that was amazing!" Drifting up from below she heard sounds of snoring. "You put them to _sleep?_" she demanded of the staff in her hand. She shrugged. "Oh well, it makes my job easier."

Petra turned to face the heath beyond the walls and waved the Wabbajack. She knew the Boss-Lady and the Big Guy would see her and come in. She jumped lightly down off the wall and set about the necessary business of eliminating the enemy before they could wake up.

Argis and Alorra left the horses tethered to some saplings near their hiding place and walked down the hill to the open gateway into Fellglow Keep. Petra was finishing up her "loose ends."

Alorra wasn't happy. "I thought you were going to take them out _quietly,_" she scowled. "Not yell so loud half of Skyrim could hear you. What happened to 'they'll never know I'm there'?"

"Well, I had to get their attention, so the Wabbajack would work," Petra explained. Argis was checking the bodies to make sure none had been missed.

"The Wabbajack did this?" Alorra said, disturbed, as she accepted it back from the young thief.

"Well, not exactly," Petra admitted, cleaning her blades before sheathing them. "It put them to sleep. I did the rest."

"I thought you said you were going to leave me a few, Pipsqueak," Argis complained.

"Sorry, Big Guy," Petra said, abashed. "I didn't know how much time I had before they might wake up."

He ruffled her hair good-naturedly. "Don't worry about it," he said. "There'll be a next time."

Alorra compressed her lips. She knew this was part of their lives, that basically this is what they did for a living, but she still didn't like killing. "Let's get moving," she said. "We need to get inside."

"The front door is right there," Petra said, pointing.

Alorra shook her head. "Not that way," she demurred. "We'd have an even bigger fight on our hands in tight quarters. Like I said, I'd rather do this stealthily."

"What's your plan?" Argis asked.

"There's a back way in," the red-haired girl replied. "We can get in through the dungeons. There's a stairway over there." She pointed to the far western side of the ruins.

"How do you know that?" the big Nord wanted to know.

"I've been here before," she smiled cryptically.

It was necessary for Petra to pick the lock on the door to the dungeon before they could get in. The girl had looted every body in the courtyard, but none of them carried a key.

Just as Alorra remembered it, they had to take a short flight of stone stairs down to a room that was flooded. Apparently this was either a common problem with this room, or the new owners just didn't care to drain it.

"Watch for bear traps," she whispered to the others before they worked their way through. A loud _SNAP_! to her right was a stark reminder to heed her own words, as her foot jostled one of the traps and set it off. Fortunately, she was not injured.

Just beyond the first chamber was a short passage that led to a room with an upper and lower level; the lower one was flooded. Petra crept forward to peek around the corner of the doorway before retreating back to report to the others.

"Looks like three brigands on the second level, with a necromancer," she breathed.

"We can handle this one, Bright Eyes," Argis murmured confidently. "Stay back here."

"I don't think so, Argis," Alorra said. "I'll hang back, but I'm not going to cower in a corner somewhere. We go in together." He gave her an admiring look before drawing his greatsword.

"Let's go, Pipsqueak!" he told Petra.

They rushed into the room, hindered by the knee-deep water and the hidden bear traps under the surface. One clamped on Argis' foot and he roared in surprise before literally shaking the trap off and continuing on. Petra danced out of the way of another, which would have crushed bone had it caught her. The bandits came down the stairs to confront them, but the necromancer remained above, shooting at them with bolts of fire.

Alorra conjured her wolf familiar and sent him after the necromancer, then sent a burst of healing energy at Argis, hoping the fetid water hadn't already infected the wound from the trap.

A yelp soon told her that Wolfie had been dispatched—rather too quickly for her peace of mind—and the necromancer turned to face her, sending a burst of fire directly at her.

_Oh sure,_ she thought through gritted teeth. _I make a pendant to protect me from shock, and now they're using fire!_ She felt her hair scorching and her skin reddened from the heat.

"Two can play at that game, you know!" she said grimly. She hadn't used any real Destruction spells on anyone since coming to Skyrim, but that was about to change. She let the energy build within her and channeled it through both her hands.

_"Lightning!"_ she cried, releasing the bolt of pure electrical energy at the man in the black robes. She knew she really didn't have to shout the name of the spell, but it _did_ give her a sense of satisfaction. The black-robed mage went rigid, and his eyes rolled back into his head. The smell of ozone filled the air. Already weakened by her familiar, the lightning bolt finished him off.

Petra and Argis had made short work of the brigands, and the three of them reached the top of the stairs.

"How's your foot?" Alorra asked, concerned, quickly downing a healing potion herself.

Argis shrugged. "It's fine, Bright Eyes," he said. "The trap never got through these boots. It hurt, but your spell took care of that."

"You said you've been here before," Petra said. "Do you know what we're up against next?"

Alorra shook her head. "I remember the general lay-out of this place," she replied. "But it's been a hundred years since the Dragonborn came through here. Things have changed."

"I'm still having a hard time with that," Petra said, confused. "Were _you_ the Dragonborn in another life?"

The red-haired girl shook her head. "No," she chuckled. "But you can pretend I was if it makes it easier for you to accept it."

"I don't think I'd like to think of you that way," Argis mused. "I'm kind of liking you just the way you are." He was glad to see she was wearing the green dress again. Alorra said nothing in reply but felt the heat rise to her cheeks yet again.

"Moving on, shall we?" she said hurriedly. She practically ran to the door in the corner and didn't see Argis and Petra exchange a grin between them.

The short corridor ahead of them led to an intersection; planted in the middle of the floor was a pressure plate. A quick glance to the right confirmed the vertical row of holes out of which poisoned darts would fly if they stepped on it.

Straight ahead was a short flight of stairs leading up to a landing that disappeared to the right. Petra motioned the others to wait while she lightly leaped over the pressure plate and went to investigate. She found a door on the left that led into a storage room of some kind with a chest in the back. It was the work of a moment to get it open and loot it. She came back with a smug smile on her face.

"Anything good?" Alorra couldn't help whispering.

"Would you like to see?" Petra returned, quietly.

"Not at the moment," the older girl murmured. "Look down there." She pointed to the left down a short flight of stairs. They saw cages filled with young people; some sitting, some lying down, others standing. All seemed to be dispirited and resigned to their fate.

"Guarded?" Argis asked, hefting the greatsword.

"Most likely," Alorra replied. "Probably just around the corner where we can't see them.

"Good," he growled with a feral grin.

They crept to the doorway and peered in.

"I don't see any guards," Petra said, moving forward, but Alorra grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her back. "Hey! What the—"

"Shhh! Look!" Alorra said, pointing.

Faintly, on the floor a short distance in, a rune glimmered and glowed, pale blue. Petra realized she would have stepped directly onto it. She gulped.

"Oops! Thanks, Boss-Lady! I didn't see that."

"I didn't think you had," Alorra said, tersely. "We'll have to watch for those. I'll set it off, but it will probably bring down some of Melek Taus' minions on us."

"We can handle them," Argis said, confidently. "Can you protect the prisoners, like you did before?"

Alorra nodded. "That will be our plan, then. Ready?"

She channeled her magic into another _Lightning Bolt_, and the rune exploded in a detonation of fire. Quickly Petra rushed in, twin blades drawn, and took cover behind a torture rack. Argis followed and met the brigands as they rounded the corner. Alorra kept to the wall on the left and threw her _shield_ spell in front of the four packed cages. The prisoners cried out, some with encouragement, others merely in fear. With the spell extended out as far as she could make it go, it fell short of covering her. It would have to do.

From the doorway at the far end, a mage started shooting _fireballs_ into the room, heedless of his own men. The _shield_ spell protected the prisoners, but Argis and Alorra took the brunt of the flames. Just around the corner, behind the rack, Petra crouched, ready to sneak attack any that made it as far as her position, but she couldn't get a clear shot at the necromancer.

Alorra felt scorched. Her skin was advancing beyond reddening into the blistering stage. This was not good! Argis kept up a steady rhythm of slashing and hacking, but even he was hurting. The dragonscale armor gave him better protection against the flames than his steel would have done, but it wasn't fire-proof. Crackling purple-blue energy flowed from the brigands he'd cut down and worked its way into the pack on his back where the empty soul gems were kept. From somewhere beyond the doorway, more brigands were advancing into the room. The mage had switched from _fireballs_ to _firebolts_, which—while still painful—told Alorra he was running low on magicka. She had to find a way to stop him.

"Petra!" she cried, over the roar of the incendiary spells, "Argis needs help!"

"I'm pinned down here, Boss Lady!" the girl called back. "My armor won't protect me from _that!_"

Keeping part of her mind concentrating on the _shield_ spell, Alorra dug into her satchel and found what she was looking for. She pulled out an amulet and called out to the little blonde thief.

"Here!" she yelled, tossing the necklace. It fell short. _Damn!_

"I got it!" Petra cried. She quickly tumbled over to Alorra's side, picking up the amulet along the way. "What does it do?" she asked breathlessly, putting it on.

"Protects you from _that_," Alorra said, indicating the stream of fire the necromancer was leveling at Argis now. He was breathing hard now, and his blows were not as strong as they were before.

"On my way!" the younger girl said, rushing in to relieve the big Nord. "Pull back, Big Guy!" she called to Argis. "I got this!"

He gratefully withdrew a few steps to allow her to pass, watching in admiration as her twin blades became an impenetrable barrier. The last two brigands went down under her assault, and she turned to the necromancer, who was now firing _flames_ at her in short bursts, clearly low on magicka.

Petra didn't hesitate. She tossed one of her daggers in the air and caught it neatly by the point, flicking it with a fluid motion of her wrist at the mage. The long, thin, keenly-honed steel buried itself in the man's forehead, and he sunk to the floor with a groan.

Alorra breathed a sigh of relief and let her _shield_ drop. The prisoners cheered and begged to be set free. Petra searched the bodies but could find no key to open the cages. "I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way, I guess," she said cheerfully, and set about picking the locks.

"Are you alright, Argis?" Alorra asked, concerned. He had taken most of the fire damage, but his armor looked unscathed. His face looked sunburned.

"A bit medium-rare, but I'm okay," he said, hissing a bit in pain. She handed him a couple of potions, which he drank without arguing, and quaffed another one herself.

The young people Petra had released clustered around the three companions, some sobbing, some angry at the treatment they'd received.

"What's going on?" they cried. "Who are these people? What do they want from us?"

"Go home," Alorra told them all. "As quickly as you can. These men are evil; we're here to try and stop them." She gave them directions to get them safely outside the ruins and wished them the best of luck.

When they had gone, Petra came over and gave Alorra several soul gems. They were common-sized and larger, and she could tell they were filled.

"I thought you'd want to take care of these," the young thief said, somberly.

Alorra sighed. "I do, but not right now. I'll wait until we're done here. I'm afraid we may find more." She put them into her satchel.

The room next to the cell block was unoccupied, the brigands having come when they heard the fighting. In the game it had been a sort of laboratory where experiments on vampires had been carried out. Here, it was set up as a barracks. Petra darted around looking for anything of value while Argis and Alorra headed to a corridor on the opposite side that led out of the chamber.

The large chamber that opened off the corridor and stairs was practically circular, with wedge-shaped cages along the right-hand side. Three levers in the center between two supporting pillars opened and closed the doors. Alorra and her companions quickly eliminated the enemies in this room and released the prisoners, again giving them guidance to leave the safest and fastest way possible.

There was a stairway in the center of the west wall, between two storage rooms which Petra scoured for anything useful. The stairway led up into the Keep proper, which Alorra wasn't prepared to fight her way through at the moment. For now, she still had some element of surprise in her favor, and she wanted to keep it as long as she could.

The three worked their way through the rest of the lower level, battling brigands and necromancers through what had once been a sort of practice range, and then into a large hall flanked by sarcophagi. The cracking of the lids startled Petra, who gave a yelp as a host of skeletons advanced towards them.

Ordinarily, skeletons might have been easy to defeat, but these were bigger and buffer than any Alorra could remember seeing. They were armored and carried better than the ancient weapons they had been buried with. Pinpoints of evil red light glowed in their sockets, and they dodged Petra's arrows with an alacrity that an acrobat would admire.

"I'll kill you again!" Argis roared, advancing on them. He swung the ebony greatsword in a wide horizontal sweep, but the two skeletons adjacent to him neatly side-stepped his attack and landed blows of their own on the big Nord, who grunted in pain.

Petra switched to her daggers and became a whirling dervish, darting in and out, spinning and dodging, trying to do any kind of damage she could, but without much effect.

"How do you kill something that's already dead?" she shouted, ducking as a bolt of ice whizzed over her head and smashed against the pillar behind her.

"Just keep smashing," Argis grunted as another ice bolt caught him in the leg.

_I've had enough of this!_ Alorra thought. She drew on her magicka and visualized every skeleton in the room running for cover, then released her energy.

Six of the dozen undead suddenly threw down their weapons and ran back toward the necromancers, who shouted in dismay.

"That helped!" Argis cheered. "Come on, Pipsqueak! Bright Eyes has just evened the odds for us a little bit."

Petra gave a tight grin as she found herself without an opponent in her face attempting to cut her down. She drew the bow again and took aim at one of the necromancers, planting an arrow in his chest. He sank to the floor and three of the skeletons disintegrated to dust. Unfortunately, they were three that had been running away.

"Nice shooting!" Argis grinned, using the flat of the ebony blade to bash a skeleton to pieces. Bits of bone flew everywhere, and the iron hauberk it had been wearing went spinning into a corner.

"I've got more where that came from, Big Guy!" the little thief bragged. _"YEEOWW!" _A bolt of ice found the blonde girl and sent her sprawling backwards, skewered through the stomach. Though it hurt like anything, Petra groggily got to her feet, the arcane bolt still piercing her, and retrieved her bow. "Owwww," she moaned. "You sonofabitch! I'll get you for that!"

Meanwhile, Alorra had been keeping up a steady flow of firebolts at the remaining skeletons. When she saw Petra get hit, however, she rushed to the girls' side.

"I'm okay, Boss-Lady," the thief winced. "It hurts, though."

"Let me heal you," Alorra insisted.

"No," Petra said, determined. "I'm gonna kill me a necromancer!"

She holstered her bow and pulled out two daggers of Elvish make.

"Where did you get those?" Alorra blinked.

"In the other room," Petra said grimly. "Time to initiate them!" She crouched and slipped into the shadows that hugged the eastern wall behind the sarcophagi. Alorra let her go and resumed her barrage of firebolts against the remaining enemies, giving Petra the cover she needed.

She managed to take out one of the two remaining necromancers, and four more skeletons crumbled to ash. Argis destroyed the last one still fighting him and together he and Alorra advanced on the lone necromancer, holding his ground at the back of the hall.

As they closed the distance between them, however, the man lost his nerve and turned to run. Before they could reach him, Petra leaped out of the shadows and sunk both elven blades into the man's back, bringing him down. Beyond him, to the right, the last three cowering skeletons fell apart, their remains no more than dust.

_From dust are ye made and to dust ye shall return,_ Alorra thought, satisfied. She looked around. A stairway led up to the left, and Alorra knew it would take them to the main floor of Fellglow Keep. She insisted they take a moment to heal up before they continued. Petra found a chest in the furthest corner on the right, hidden among the rubble. She brought back some potions and coins, which she handed over to Alorra.

A door at the top of the stairs opened into a short corridor which took an abrupt turn to the right and ascended further to a closed door. Petra carefully checked for sounds on the other sides but could hear nothing through the massive iron-clad wooden door. She opened it and they made their way into what had once been a chapel when the Keep was first built. Now it had been defiled, turned into a horrible Temple honoring Melek Taus. His image leered at them from the front of the room, above a door recessed against the back wall, which led into the rest of the Keep.

To one side was a summoning circle, surrounded by soul gems. Alorra was horrified at first, afraid they were already too late to stop something. But she soon realized the gems were nothing better than lesser and petty-sized. Human souls needed a common-size soul gem at the very least, and all these were empty. She collected them and gave them to Argis.

"Good," he grinned. "I was getting kind of low." He put them in his pack with the others.

As Petra poked around—something she seemed to do by habit, more than anything else—she found something unusual and called Alorra over. It was in a pile of rubble where the back wall of the chapel had collapsed.

"I've never seen anything like this," she said. "What is it?"

Alorra knew what it was right away. Lying among the fallen debris was a large piece of stone, intricately carved, resembling a sort of cross between a sword and a double-bladed axe. The effigy was buried point first into a wedge-shaped base.

"A Shrine to Talos!" Alorra breathed. "I'm surprised it's still here!" The statue that had once stood in the alcove behind them was long gone. Regardless, she could still feel the power remaining in the Shrine, and was surprised to find it undefiled.

"To who?" Petra asked. "Who's Talos?"

"You don't know him," Argis murmured. "The Empire wiped out Talos worship long before you or I were ever born. But I remember my Grandfather talking about it. A lot of Nords believed in him."

"Why did the Empire do that?" Petra wondered aloud.

"Because the Altmer told them to," Argis said shortly. He picked up the stone carving. It was heavy, but not overly so.

"What are you going to do with it?" Petra asked.

"Yes, Argis," Alorra said. "What _are_ you going to do with it? You know Talos worship is outlawed."

"I know," he said. "But I seem to recall somebody, not too long ago, saying the government shouldn't tell the people who they can and can't worship." He gave them both a steady look. Petra shrugged and turned to continue her exploration.

"Well?" he demanded of Alorra.

"I said nothing," she smiled. "Keep it, if it brings you comfort."

He nodded his thanks and made room in his backpack for the Shrine.

The only other thing of note in this room was the rows of benches set up in front of a blood-stained altar. The blood was not fresh, but it was a grim reminder of their enemies' foul purpose.

"Come on," Alorra said hollowly. "We're not done here yet."

The heavy door at the far end groaned on its hinges as it opened, startling three brigands sitting at a table near a fireplace. They barely had a chance to get to their feet before Alorra, Argis and Petra cut them down. To the left was a wide, curving corridor that ended in two doors, one ahead, and one to the left. Both were closed.

"Which way?" Petra asked, as quietly as she could.

Alorra thought carefully. "That door there, in the alcove, leads back downstairs," she replied. "It ends up in that circular room with the cages. We need to keep moving forward."

The little thief nodded and checked the door. Sounds of hammering could be heard coming from beyond it. She crouched, and motioned the others to do so as well, then carefully and quietly opened the door. It only creaked a little bit, but Petra still winced. _I'm gonna start carrying oil with me,_ she thought.

"Get ready for a fight," Argis growled.

A large chamber with stairs leading to an upper level on the right-hand side opened up to them. The sound of hammering grew louder, and they saw at once several brigands and mages lounging about. All eyes turned toward the three companions.

"I'm gonna tear you apart!" Argis yelled, rushing into the room.

Alorra heard a warping sound from the top of the stairs, and saw for the first time a Flame Atronach. The being of pure fire spun in mid-air, seeking a target. Finding three, it began lobbing _firebolts_ at them.

"YEOWCH!" Petra screamed, tumbling out of the way.

_It had to be fire again, didn't it?_ Alorra groused to herself. At least Petra still had the amulet. She lost track of the young thief, but it didn't matter as long as she was keeping herself safe. Alorra concentrated on the necromancers at the top of the stairs.

"Come on out, Wolfie!" she called, summoning her familiar. "Sic 'em!" she ordered the ghostly lupine. He howled and charged up the stairs towards the black-robed mages.

Pain thudded into her as an arrow found its mark in her chest. For a moment the whole room seemed to spin. The enchantments she'd put on her dress, however, began to counteract the damage at once, healing her without her having to cast a spell. She searched with her eyes and found the offender, standing in the doorway of the room directly opposite her.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, Alorra decided to stretch her arcane limits. She concentrated on the archer and visualized him attacking his own companions. She released the energy and watched with satisfaction as he turned his arrows upon the other brigands. Howls of dismay came from them, and in a very short time they cut him down.

_One less to worry about,_ she thought, and directed another burst of the same energy at the bandit rushing toward her. He stopped in mid-stride, nearly tripping, but spun and attacked one of his fellow brigands who had Argis backed against a table. The two minions went at it, ending with both striking fatal blows and killing each other.

"Your handiwork?" Argis grinned. "Thanks!"

Another burst of fire surrounded them, and Argis grimaced. "We've got to take that thing out!" he gritted.

A sudden, short yelp told her that her familiar had been sent back to wherever it was he rested until summoned again. There was only one necromancer remaining: the one who had summoned the Flame Atronach. Alorra couldn't see Petra anywhere and was starting to worry.

She directed a bolt of electrical energy at the black-robed wizard, but he dodged her spell. He didn't see the small figure sneaking up behind him, and therefore never felt the blades that sliced his throat cleanly, sending the head _thunking_ down the stairs. The Atronach staggered, and Alorra yelled, "Get back, Petra!" The little thief dove for cover as the summoned daedra exploded in a huge fireball.

Silence fell, and Alorra realized she still had the arrow stuck in her. She sat down heavily on a nearby bench.

"Alorra!" Argis shouted, rushing to her side. "Are you okay?"

_He called me by my name! _"I will be…I think," she said faintly. "Take the arrow out, Argis." Petra came running up, a scared look on her face.

"Are you sure?" he asked, worried. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Petra, there's a potion in my bag, in a large red bottle."

"I'll get it," she said eagerly, slipping Alorra's backpack off the red-haired girl's shoulders and digging into it.

Argis' golden eyes looked steadily into her deep green ones. "Just let me know when you're ready," he said. He never wanted to do anything less right now. What if he caused more damage?

"Do it now," she breathed, bracing herself.

Argis nodded. "Get that potion ready, Pipsqueak," he told Petra. The little blonde thief nodded, her brow knit with worry.

In one swift motion, Argis pulled the arrow out the way it had entered. The pain was more intense than anything she could remember—even being riddled with bullets in a firing squad. After the first one, she'd never felt the others. Her death then had been nearly instantaneous. This was a lingering pain, and she vaguely realized that Petra was carefully holding the healing potion bottle to her lips. She took a weak sip and immediately felt a little bit better.

Encouraged by the younger girl, she slowly managed to drink the rest of the potion down. The blood stanched and torn tissues repaired themselves. The pain subsided and her vision cleared. Looking inward she realized the arrow had just missed puncturing a lung. Another inch or two to the left, and her heart would have been hit, ending her mission in failure.

"Thank you," she breathed, both to her friends and to her Creator.

"We should leave," Petra said, troubled. "We're getting brutalized here."

"We can't quit now," Alorra said, more confidently than she felt. Petra was right, though; their enemies were getting tougher and stronger the further along they went. But they had to shut this operation down or Melek Taus would win. That was an outcome that was unacceptable. "We've been successful so far. We have to keep going. As I recall, there isn't much left to this place. If Ragnvald is here, we have to try to stop him."

"I'm sticking with you, Bright Eyes," Argis said firmly. _Oh, so we're back to 'Bright Eyes', now? _she thought, disappointed. "But I don't fault you if you want to go home, Pipsqueak," Argis continued. "This is definitely more than you bargained for." Privately, he was more worried than he let on at how close they'd come to losing the one person they had both come to rely upon. He made a vow to himself to stick closer to his "Bright Eyes", and protect her at all costs.

"I'm not going to bail on you guys," Petra said, indignantly. "If you both think we can make it, then I'm staying!"

Argis ruffled her hair in a gesture of approval. Alorra smiled and gave her a one-armed hug around the shoulders. "Give me a minute to catch my breath and we'll get going again," she said.

There were two doors, one on either side of the stairway on the upper level. Petra told them that the one on the right led to an area that had an alchemy lab, an enchanting table and an anvil. "That was the hammering we heard," she explained. "It looked like he was working on some jewelry to enchant. I found a lot of good stuff in there," she grinned, patting her backpack, which was beginning to bulge in an alarming manner.

"We need to go that way," Alorra said, pointing to the other doorway across from them. "If my memory serves me right, there's a library up there, some other smaller rooms, and a grand stairway that spirals up."

"Where does that lead?" Argis asked.

Alorra took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "To the Ritual Chamber," she said. "We need to hurry." She headed to the doorway, and the other two followed.

The corridor beyond took a sharp turn to the right and opened to a flight of stairs leading up. As they approached the top, they could see the room ahead was filled with bookshelves.

"Watch yourselves here," Alorra whispered. "There could be anyone hiding behind these shelves." Petra nodded, and Argis gave a murmured, "Mmm," and hefted his greatsword. They surprised two necromancers and took them out with hardly a sound. Alorra would have loved to have taken all the books she found in this room, but steeled herself to stay focused and led them to the corridor on the opposite side of the round library.

This led them up another flight of stairs into a long, wide room flanked on either side with beds and chests. Many of the chests were either empty, or contained little of value, much to Petra's disappointment. Two smaller rooms opened off this one, again, with nothing—in Petra's mind—worth plundering.

The room took a right angle, becoming more of a hallway, and ended with a choice of two doors. "The one on the right is more sleeping chambers," Alorra said quietly. "We need to go through the one ahead."

"Can I at least look through those other rooms?" Petra pleaded.

Alorra sighed. "Make it quick, dear," she said, almost to empty air. Petra slipped through the door and was gone for several minutes.

"Why do you indulge her like that?" Argis grimaced.

"Because if I didn't, she'd find a way at a less opportune moment," Alorra smiled. "We might need her with us, and she would be off exploring a room we passed, just to see what might be inside. Besides, she does find some good stuff!"

"I suppose you're right," he acquiesced. Petra returned shortly, lugging a stone pyramid.

"What in the world—?" Alorra blinked. She would have laughed if their current situation hadn't been so dire. "Why did you take _that?_"

"It looked interesting," the younger girl replied. "Do you think it's worth anything?"

"That's a Shrine to Julianos," Argis said, working hard to keep a straight face. "He's the God of Magic, if you didn't know."

Petra almost dropped the Shrine. "It is?" she faltered. "Oh. Maybe I shouldn't have—"

"No, dear," Alorra deadpanned. "I don't think you should have. Why don't you put that back where you got it?"

"But the Big Guy took the other one—" Petra said, in half-hearted protest.

"Only because he was rescuing it," Alorra pointed out. "He's not intending to sell it for profit. Besides, it wouldn't be a very good idea to have a god mad at you."

"Uh…yeah…okay," the little thief mumbled. "Give me a minute." She disappeared back inside the room, returning a few moments later without the Shrine.

"Ready?" Alorra smiled.

Petra nodded, her face pink with embarrassment. Alorra tactfully said no more and headed for the door at the end of the hall. Beside her she could see Argis' jaw working hard to keep from bursting out laughing. She rolled her eyes and opened the door.

The stone stairway curved upward in a semi-circle, ending in a wedge-shaped landing with a door on the narrow, curved, interior wall. Alorra took a deep breath. This was it. This was as high as they could go in the Keep. Whatever was behind this door, they would have to face, the three of them together.

The vast circular room had a sunken floor, in the center of which was an eight-pointed stone dais. Around both sides were cages—not in the game, Alorra knew, but added by the minions of Melek Taus—filled with dozens of young men and women. They moaned and sobbed, or sat silently on the floor with looks of stony hopelessness on their faces.

At the far side of the room were three wedge-shaped alcoves, two of which also had the eight-pointed raised stonework. In front of the middle alcove, was a raised platform with several large levers. Behind them, stood a mage in a different color robe: this one was blood red, embroidered in black with runes that twisted the vision, and made Alorra feel ill to look at them.

"So nice of you to drop by, Outworlder," the mage sneered. "But I'm afraid this is as far as you'll get."

He threw one of the levers. The prisoners inside the cages suddenly screamed, leaping to their feet and crushing themselves against the bars as jets of flame seared forth.

_"NOOOO!"_ Alorra shrieked.

A warping sound was heard as the red-robed mage summoned a Frost Atronach onto the central stone dais. The ice daedra appeared to scan the room, eyelessly, before orienting on the three companions and lumbering toward them.

"I've got this one, Bright Eyes," Argis roared. "Help those prisoners!" He leaped for the atronach and began hacking at it with the greatsword. The huge construct of ice swung at the big Nord and smashed a glacial fist into his side.

"I've got your back!" Petra said grimly, running after him. A back-handed swipe from the atronach knocked the little blonde thief against the far wall.

The necromancer laughed cruelly as the young people in the cages shrieked and wailed, desperately trying to avoid the flames. "What will you do, Outworlder?" he grinned. "Help the prisoners or help your friends?"

"Both," Alorra snarled. She wasn't going to let him win this one! She targeted her magical energy at the switch he'd thrown. _Pull!_ she thought, gesturing with her right hand.

Nothing happened.

Alarmed, she tried again. The lever moved, but the flames kept pouring into the cages, and several of the young prisoners succumbed, fainting. Some tried to press themselves to either side of the jets, but there was little room to maneuver, and too many people inside.

The necromancer cackled evilly. "I knew you'd try something like that!" he exclaimed. "You're so predictable! Which switch is which?" he grinned. "Can you find it before it's too late?"

The atronach brought its icy fist down directly on top of Argis, and Alorra heard something crack. Hoping desperately it was ice and not bone, she threw a burst of electrical energy at the red-robed mage. It bounced harmlessly off him. A pendant at his neck glowed briefly. _Dammit!_ she thought. _He has protection!_

"This is all very sad and pathetic, don't you think?" he sneered. "I can't imagine why Ragnvald thought you were to be feared. I'll be delighted to tell him you fell to Mathias Blackheart this day."

Petra staggered to her feet and drew her bow, firing arrows at the atronach. It turned and advanced on her, and the little thief danced and dodged out of its way while trying simultaneously to keep clear of the flames that shot through the bars of the cages, and to avoid the ham-fisted blows of solid ice the creature aimed at her.

Enraged, Alorra threw her energy at the switches on the podium. _"MOVE!"_ she commanded them. All the levers moved at once. The jets of flame stopped and the cage doors swung open. Mathias Blackheart's smirk faded, and he frowned.

_"FIREBOLT!"_ she roared, pointing to the atronach. The bolt of flames hit it squarely in the back and it shattered and melted into a puddle of water just as it raised its hand to crush Petra. Argis lay on the floor, still breathing but unmoving. _"HEAL!"_ she thundered, spreading out both hands, and a wave of healing energy washed out in all directions. Argis roused himself and sat up, shaking his head groggily. Many of the prisoners sighed in relief as their burns healed and their pain subsided. Petra leaped onto the stone dais and took aim at Mathias.

He disappeared from behind the levers and reappeared on the right-hand dais. Petra's arrow bounced off the far wall of the alcove where he'd been a moment before. Gesturing quickly, he shot a bolt of fire at Petra, and while she winced under the pain, the amulet around her neck glowed brightly as it absorbed the worst of the spell. Mathias snarled and fired off a bolt of electricity at Alorra.

_Ha!_ she thought triumphantly as her own pendant glowed. _It finally came in handy! _Her hair flew wildly in all directions under the electrical charge. It was time to end this. She glared at her nemesis. _"HOLD!"_ she commanded him, but Mathias shook it off.

"I don't think so, Outworlder," he said, as casually as he could, though Alorra could see he was visibly shaken at the turn of events. "Perhaps I may have underestimated you…only a bit, perhaps. You win this round, but we'll meet again, I can assure you." He made a gesture with his hand and vanished into thin air. Petra's arrow clattered through the space where he'd been.

"Son of a—" she bristled. "He got away!"

"Yes," Alorra said. "_This_ time." She went over to the cages; once again they had no key with which to open them, and Petra grinned as she pulled out her picks.

"I'm getting lots of practice, hanging with you," she quipped.

Alorra was exhausted. The spells she had cast in rapid succession had nearly drained her magicka reserves. The prisoners who still needed healing were therefore given some of the potions Petra had found during her looting. The little blonde thief quietly gave the young men and women directions to leave Fellglow Keep the fastest and safest way.

Alorra stared in profound sadness at the dozen charred bodies remaining in the cages. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Damn him!" she cried.

Argis came up behind Alorra and put his hand on her shoulder. "You saved the rest," he said. "And we cleared this outpost."

"I know," she said, quickly brushing the unshed tears away. "I should have done more, sooner. I just didn't anticipate this."

"No one could have," Argis pointed out. "But I think you handled it better than anyone could have."

It was a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless. "Thank you," she said gratefully.

There was one place left to check: the roof of the tower. She doubted Mathias had only run that far and stopped, but she felt compelled to make sure. In her heart she was certain he was long gone, and only felt a small amount of satisfaction over the report he would have to give to Melek Taus.

As soon as the newly-liberated young men and women left the chamber, Alorra led Argis and Petra to the ladder and trap door she knew to be at the back of the center alcove.

A bolt of electricity hit her square in the chest as she emerged, and she stumbled. Her pendant took the brunt of the charge, however, and Argis scrambled to get out of the hole to rush the necromancer crouching behind a pile of rubble.

"I've got this!" Alorra cried. She didn't want the man killed. She needed answers.

_Hold!_ she thought as she released a burst of magicka at the man. He stiffened and fell back against the wall. Satisfied he was immobile, she and her two friends closed in.

"Now," she said to him companionably. "Why don't we have a little chat?"

"I'll tell you nothing, Outworlder bitch!" the man spat. His eyes stared straight ahead, and though he could speak, he could take no other actions.

Alorra had had enough by this time. "Oh, I think you will," she said, intensely. She gestured with one hand; a small burst of magic followed. "Because you see, I'm your new best friend. And best friends like us have to stick together."

"What the—" Petra sputtered. "What is she doing?" She moved forward, but Argis held her back.

"Watch and learn, Pipsqueak," he grinned. "This should be good."

"Well," the man said slowly, "I don't know if I should. Mathias wouldn't like it."

"Mathias is just jealous," Alorra purred, keeping up the _charm_ spell. "He knows that you're so much better than he is, at so many things. He's afraid Melek Taus will name _you_ as next High Priest."

"He has every reason to be worried!" the necromancer agreed, eagerly. "Why, if it wasn't for me, he never would have thought of this place!"

"I know, right?" Alorra smiled. "When I think of him and Ragnvald, sitting up there at—where did you say it was again?"

"Morvunskar," the man supplied.

"Yes, that's right, Morvunskar," she agreed. Not the information she'd hoped to get; she already knew about Morvunskar. "Well, when I think of the two of them sitting up there and taking all the glory for your ideas, well, it just makes me mad!"

"I never get any credit," the necromancer bemoaned. "It was my idea to use the younger souls. I told Mathias they were stronger than the old and infirm he wanted to use, and we wouldn't need as many. And did you know I was the one that suggested Saarthal in the first place?"

"Really?" Alorra exclaimed, feigning surprise, yet secretly delighted. _This_ was what she'd been hoping to get!

"Yes! I told them there had to be some residual energy from the Eye of Magnus there that we could draw off to—" the man broke off. "To—" he frowned.

"What's happening?" Petra whispered.

"I don't know," Argis murmured. "Looks like he's fighting something."

Alorra could sense it, too. The man was having an internal battle with something trying to prevent him from talking.

"What were they going to use the energy for?" she queried insistently.

"NO!" the man exclaimed. "NO! My lord—I didn't—_NOOOOOOO!"_ He jerked, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Quickly Alorra attempted to revive the man, but it was too late. In mere heartbeats, he was gone. Frustrated, she pushed the body away from her.

"Damn!" she swore. "We were so close to getting an answer, too!"

"But didn't you already say they were going to use the energy to bring Melek Taus to Tamriel?" Petra asked.

"It's what I think they're going to do," Alorra qualified. "But I wanted confirmation."

"Still," Argis pointed out, "it looks like they may be taking the soul gems to Saarthal. That's more than we knew before."

"Where's Saarthal?" Petra asked.

"Winterhold," Alorra and Argis answered at the same time.

"But we have to go to Morvunskar first," Alorra said. "We have to stop them from killing any more young people."

"We should get moving, then," Argis commented. "The next moonless night is only two days away."

Alorra nodded. They still had much to do, and so little time, it seemed, in which to do it.


	10. Chapter 9

Deum Occidere

Chapter 9

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

Alorra, Argis and Petra made one side trip upon leaving Fellglow Keep. At a request from the sandy-haired Nord, they went back to the hilltop where the Shrine of Talos once stood. Argis carefully and reverently placed the Shrine they'd found at Fellglow on the stone plinth. He stood quietly for several moments while Petra and Alorra hung back to give him privacy with his thoughts.

_Please,_ Alorra prayed_, protect this place. Don't let anyone find it who shouldn't._

It may have been a trick of the sunlight, but she thought the Shrine glowed briefly. Neither Petra nor Argis reacted to it, but Alorra felt certain her heartfelt prayer had been heard. She just wasn't sure which Power heard her. She was learning that while she had come here under the guidance and protection of her Creator, Skyrim—and indeed Tamriel itself—had Powerful Beings of its own watching over it.

Before they left the Shrine, Alorra released the souls from the gems they'd found at Fellglow. It was easier this time than before; she still felt tired from the expenditure of energy, but the exultation of the freed souls more than made up for it. She had hoped they would find more trapped souls, but Mathias Blackheart had apparently taken them with him.

They continued on, west and south, to find a place to ford the White River. The road which would eventually lead them to Morvunskar was on the far bank.

As they rode along, Petra scouted ahead. Argis stayed with the woman he'd sworn to protect.

"My Grandfather told me stories," he said at last. "My family was always loyal to Skyrim first, the Empire second, but until the Civil War we always worshipped the Nine Gods. Grandfather told me it almost broke the Bulwark's heart when Talos worship was outlawed. He wore an amulet to Talos under his armor until the day he died."

"What happened to the amulet?" Alorra asked, sympathetically.

"It was lost years ago," he replied. "My father was Housecarl to Emmett Valrayn, Thane of the Reach, and they were fighting bandits along the Karth River. Pa was crossing a rope bridge the brigands had strung across a tributary, advancing in front of Thane Emmett. The brigands were being wiped out, and they knew it. In a last act of desperation, they cut the bridge, and sent my Pa and Thane Emmett tumbling into the river."

"Oh my gosh!" Alorra exclaimed. "Were they alright?"

Argis chuckled. "Oh yeah, they were fine. Pa saved his Thane's life that day, too; one of many times. It would have taken more than a dunking in the river to finish off my father," he said proudly. "But in the rushing water, he lost the amulet. He was always sad about that, since it had belonged to the Bulwark himself. And it wasn't exactly something he could replace."

"Is your father still living?" Alorra asked, hesitantly.

"Yeah," Argis nodded. "He and Ma have a farmstead near Old Hroldan. My oldest sister Gemma and her family live nearby. And my older brother, Riordan, is Housecarl to Thane Julius at Understone Keep."

"Are you the youngest?"

Argis shook his head. "No, I've got two younger brothers, the twins, Roland and Aksel. They're still young, and haven't left home yet."

"When was the last time you saw your family?" Alorra asked.

Argis shrugged. "It's been a while. I've been doing a lot of mercenary work the last few years." He hesitated. "Truth is, I haven't been home since—well, since…"

"Since your Thane died," Alorra finished for him. He nodded. "They're your family, Argis. I'm sure they don't blame you for what happened."

"You don't know my family," he said morosely. "When I became Housecarl my Pa was as proud as could be. When I was dismissed, well, I think he felt shamed. You're not from here, so you don't know how it is."

Alorra shook her head. "That's where you're wrong, Argis," she said quietly. "Things like that happened in the world I left, too."

They forded the river at the widest, shallowest spot Alorra could remember, just west of Valtheim Towers and rejoined the road, heading east. Unlike the game, where this particular location always seemed to spawn bandits, here it was an outpost manned by Whiterun guards, who watched the eastern border of the Hold where it joined both the Pale and Eastmarch.

The road led them along the White River, as it descended into the gorge that ended in a falls just east of the Towers. The day was wearing on, storm clouds were gathering, and Alorra began to get worried about where they would spend the night. There were no towns or settlements in this area of which she was aware. She mentioned her concern to the others.

"There's Fort Amol, just a little bit south of here, near the bridge," Petra said. "It's not too far from the old giant camp."

"Giants?!" Alorra exclaimed, alarmed. "I don't want to have to fight giants!"

"Relax," Petra said. "There aren't any giants in this part of the country anymore."

"The Pipsqueak is right," Argis agreed. "They were driven up into the mountains, years ago, just like the trolls and the dragons."

Alorra was only slightly relieved. They might not have to deal with them now, but sooner or later, if she remembered her Skyrim geography correctly, they would have to cross mountain passes to get to Sarthaal.

Fort Amol was an Imperial outpost on the western bank of the Darkwater River, just south of its confluence with the White River. The two rivers merged and flowed north, eventually joining with the Yorgrim before emptying into the Sea of Ghosts to the northeast of Windhelm. The Fort was ancient, but well-maintained, consisting of a barracks, a prison and a watchtower. Alorra hoped they would find hospitality here.

The Captain, Adamo, was reluctant to allow them to stay. "We're a military fortress," he scowled. "Not some damned inn."

"It's only for one night," Alorra pleaded. "The storm is almost on us, and we'll never make it to Windhelm tonight." She didn't tell him they had no intention of going to Windhelm.

"Damned travelers," the Captain muttered. "Fine, you can stay in the common room. But if I find any of you sneaking around the barracks you'll be out of here faster than a skeever with its tail on fire, you understand?"

"Completely," Alorra nodded, relieved they wouldn't have to camp out in the rain.

To set the Captain's mind at ease, the three of them set up their bedrolls near a large, open fireplace, ate a quick meal and settled themselves down to get as much rest as they could in the active fort.

0

_ Argis found himself in a room he didn't recognize; a bedroom, from the look of it. A fire was burning in the hearth, and a table and two chairs were set on one side of the room. A large bed covered in sleeping furs was set on the other._

_ The door opened, and a red-haired woman entered. He knew her. How did she get here? And why couldn't he remember her name? Oh, but why question trivial things when she was here and he loved her._

_ Her green eyes sparkled and lit up her smile. She wore a loose robe in a color that matched her eyes. "Come to me, my love," she breathed, opening her arms in invitation._

_ He didn't hesitate. He was already getting hard under his tunic. Where was his armor? Oh well, it didn't matter. A tunic was much easier to remove, after all._

_ And then they were naked, lying together on the bed. How did that happen? He didn't remember getting undressed. It's just a dream, he told himself. No, this was more than a dream. Could a dream taste the way her lips tasted, or her skin? Could a dream smell like the red mountain flowers she preferred? Could a dream feel so warm and wet and slick? He could feel his breath coming faster, could feel the curling sensation in his loins as his cock positioned itself against her tight pussy._

_ "Yes!" she cried, green eyes fixed on his amber ones. "Take me, my love! Make me scream your name!"_

_ IT'S JUST A DREAM! his mind screamed at him. WAKE UP!_

0

Argis awoke with the worst hard-on he could remember having. Groaning, he looked around. It was dark, except for a soft glow coming from the fireplace. Petra and Alorra still slept huddled on their pallets a few feet away. They were still at Fort Amol, and from the sound of things it must be very late in the night or early in the morning, as there was very little noise. Gasping, he rose from his pallet and staggered to the loo to relieve himself.

A few moments later, he returned to splash some cold water on his face from the bucket by the fireplace. That dream was too real! It was the fourth one he'd had this month, and this time he'd damn near almost soiled his sleeping furs. He glanced over guiltily at Alorra, who was still sleeping not five feet away. She knew so many things that were beyond his experience. Could she read minds, too? Could she tell he'd been having erotic dreams about her? He sincerely hoped not!

Argis gave a ragged sigh. He'd sworn to protect her, but how could he do that when he couldn't even protect her from himself? Oh sure, nothing had happened…yet. But the dreams were becoming more than a nuisance, they were becoming distracting. The last thing he needed in the middle of a fight was the thought of his Bright Eyes writhing and mewling in pleasure under him. His traitorous cock pulsed with the idea.

"Down, boy," he growled at it in frustration. He ran a hand through his hair and returned to his pallet. Might as well try and get some more sleep. The dream wouldn't return tonight, he knew. But it had certainly kept him from getting any rest. As he lay there, trying to relax, the thought occurred to Argis: maybe this was part of the Enemy's plan, to keep them fatigued?

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely. The last one he'd had had been right before they'd hit Fellglow Keep. And now they planned to infiltrate Morvunskar tomorrow. Were the others experiencing disturbing dreams as well? He'd have to ask Alorra about it, but how to do that without revealing his own? That would be far too embarrassing for both of them. There had to be a way that he could broach the subject. Thinking about this, Argis soon drifted off to sleep again.

0

They woke early, still bleary-eyed and tired, broke their fast and thanked the Captain for his "hospitality". The sun wasn't up yet when they rejoined the road and turned their steps northward. The rain had cleared during the night and it promised to be a comfortable day.

They met nothing on the road and by mid-morning approached the turn-off that would take them up a long hill to Morvunskar.

"I don't like this," Petra worried. "They've cleared a lot of the area on the approach. They'll see us coming for a good quarter mile before we can even get close." They had crouched in some bushes some distance back while Petra went ahead to scout out the enemy.

Alorra frowned. Even in the game, a direct assault on Morvunskar, unless one was high enough level, would have been considered suicide. She had no intention of letting her friends get hurt.

"Can we get around behind the tower?" she asked. She was pretty sure it was possible, at least her memories said it was.

"We could," Argis mused, "but it would take time. Masser and Secunda won't be out tonight, and we don't know when they'll start the sacrifices."

"What about a Potion of Invisibility?" Alorra asked.

"I've got one," Petra said. "It won't last long, though."

"Would it last long enough for you to sneak in there and lift the portcullis?"

"It might," the little blonde thief nodded. "But you'd have to get through that passageway that they've riddled with traps."

"Leave that to me," Argis said. "I've got an idea."

"What are you going to do?" Alorra demanded, suspiciously.

"Let it be a surprise, Bright Eyes," he said with a wolfish grin. He turned to Petra. "Just stay clear of that passageway once you get the gate open, okay?"

"You got it, Big Guy," she said, snapping him a smart salute.

"Wait a minute," Alorra protested. "I'm not sure I like the idea of you two putting yourselves in danger like this."

"We'll be fine, Bright Eyes," Argis said earnestly. "If you could just give us a distraction, to draw them away from the gate, that would help."

"Alright," Alorra caved in. "I can do that. Let me work my way around to the east. I'll shoot up a fireball or something so you'll know to get moving."

She crouched and crept away as quietly as she was able, but she was nowhere near as skilled at this as Petra. Her companions looked after her.

"Nice way to get the Boss Lady out of the line of fire, Big Guy," Petra approved.

"She's not out of danger," Argis worried. "There's not much on that side of the fort. She won't have to go far to fall off. I hope she's careful."

"So what's your plan?"

"Just get your backside in there and get ready to open that gate, Pipsqueak," he growled. "And stay clear of that area when you do."

Petra looked as though she wanted to argue with him, but nodded once instead and slinked away into the shadows.

Argis retraced his steps quickly back down the hill to an overturned cart by the side of the road. It was too bad it had just rained, but he hoped to find enough dry grasses and twigs under the pine branches. Working as fast as he could he filled the cart with as much dry tinder as he could find and began pushing it back up to their waiting position.

He had just gotten himself placed when a series of spells went off on the eastern side of Morvunskar.

"Here we go," he told himself. "Make the Bulwark proud!" He struck flint with his dagger until the sparks flew, dropping into the dry grass in the cart. Smoking at first, they very quickly caught and spread until small flames licked at the dry pine branches.

Argis grabbed the rails which would have been used to fasten a harness and pushed with all his might. The cart was small, not much more than a goat cart, but it was still heavy and he was pushing uphill; he grunted with the effort.

As the wind shifted direction the smoke cleared and the flames spread more quickly. The pine branches hissed and crackled as the pitch caught fire. The ground leveled out a few hundred feet before the gate, and Argis saw it was open.

_Good girl, Pipsqueak!_ he thought, and pushed as hard as he could. The cart, bouncing over a somewhat level surface now, picked up momentum of its own and Argis was glad the wind was coming from behind him now, as it was starting to blaze up nicely.

As he entered the passageway he gave a mighty shove and sent the cart bouncing over bear traps and trigger plates ahead of him. He hung back as poisoned darts shot from the sides and thudded harmlessly into the cart. When the danger passed he followed with sword drawn.

The cart had stopped halfway, and now Argis could see several mages headed back toward the main gate, having been unable to locate the source of the spells that had gone off.

_Just stay hidden, Bright Eyes,_ he pleaded silently. He gave the cart a kick, sending it ahead of him, and the enemy shouted in dismay as smoke and flames billowed forth, obscuring their line of sight to Argis. Through the conflagration, Argis suddenly saw two of the mages fall to the ground. He was sure it was Petra and gave a feral grin as he kicked the cart one last time to send it rolling into the courtyard beyond.

Two more of the enemy dropped where they stood, and Argis emerged from the passageway, immediately accosted by a half-dozen more, some necromancers, some mercenaries.

This was something he understood, and he allowed himself to slip into the comfortably familiar pattern of striking, parrying, advancing and blocking that had served him so well in the Reach.

Flames washed over him suddenly, and for a moment he thought the wind had changed direction again, and that he was too close to the cart. But this was coming from ahead of him, not from the side. A fire-mage was lining up another fireball at him, and Argis dove for cover behind a broken wall.

_Gods, I hate fire!_ he groused to himself. He sheathed the sword and shrugged his bow off his back. Just as he was about to let fly he saw a smaller shadow separate itself from a larger one behind the mage. Two quick, jerky movements, and the mage toppled shoulders-first over the edge of the roof upon which he stood. His head rolled the other way.

The shadow melted away to seek another target.

_'Atta girl, Pipsqueak! _he silently cheered.

Another mercenary in front of Argis was flung backward as an ethereal arrow plunged into his chest. Startled, Argis followed the trajectory back to see Alorra on top of the wall across the courtyard. She ducked down behind a pile of rubble as a wave of ice was sent her way.

_"ARGH!"_ he heard her cry.

At that point, something inside Argis snapped, and he remembered little of the fight afterwards. All he could think of was getting to Alorra's side as quickly as possible, but people kept getting in the way, so he cut them down.

When he finally reached her she was shivering, but still shooting arrows from that ridiculous ethereal bow of hers. She let it disperse when she ran out of targets.

"I'm ok-kay," she said, as briskly as she could. "Where's P-petra?"

"Getting ahead, last I saw," Argis commented wryly. He knew she didn't understand his macabre joke, but that was okay.

"We need to get m-moving," Alorra said. Would she ever feel warm again? That ice wall spell was brutal! "We have to get ins-side."

"Not until I'm sure you're recovered," Argis scowled. "I thought you were going to shoot off spells from outside the walls to distract them."

"That was _your_ plan," Alorra pointed out. "I never said I'd stay put out there!"

"They could have killed you!" he growled at her. "How did you get up on the wall, anyway?"

"There's a low spot on the northeast side that's crumbled. I climbed up there," Alorra said. "And anyway, what's the big idea barging in through the front gate? I thought we were going for subtlety here." She glared back at him.

"We needed to get inside quickly," Argis all but yelled. "And it worked, didn't it?"

"Yes, but now every one of Melek Taus' followers inside knows we're here. They'll be ready for us! We've lost any element of surprise we might have had! They might already have started the sacrifices!"

Argis opened his mouth to retort but stopped. He couldn't think of anything to say. She was right, of course. He'd blown it. He hung his head in shame.

"I'm sorry, Bright Eyes," he said contritely. "I guess I didn't think things through."

Alorra felt her anger subside. She put her hand on his arm. "It's okay, Argis," she said. "If you'd told me what you intended to do we might have been able to come up with another plan."

"Ma? Da?" a voice called. "Are you two done arguing?"

Alorra and Argis turned to see Petra standing below at the foot of a set of stone stairs that led up through the lower garrison to a second level. A short distance away from the stairs on that level was a braced wooden door.

Alorra felt the heat rise in her cheeks again. "Yes, dear, we're done. And we're not arguing. We're having a discussion." Argis snorted.

"Good," the cheeky little thief answered. "Because I've cleared the first room inside. You might want to come and help me with the rest, though." She headed up to the second level and made her way over to the door.

"We'll be right there," Alorra called, leading Argis down the stairs to the courtyard.

"She's getting awfully full of herself, isn't she?" the big Nord grumbled.

Alorra chuckled. "Yes, but we love her just the same, don't we?"

0

True to her word, Petra had cleared the first interior level of Morvunskar by herself.

"It wasn't that hard," she explained. "As soon as the Boss Lady sent up her signal I drank my potion, opened the gate and snuck inside this building. I knew the two of you could handle the mercs and mages outside."

"It was still very dangerous to go in without any kind of back-up," Alorra frowned.

"They never even saw me!" Petra exclaimed. "I was invisible! And besides, there weren't that many in here. As soon as I finished them off I came back out. I'm not foolish enough to go up against Ragnvald on my own!"

Alorra shook her head in resignation and explored the two tower rooms. Set up with altars, they were empty. It looked like nothing was happening yet. The three companions headed down the stairs and followed the passageway as it dog-legged to the left. At the end, another passageway led to the left again, widening and ending in an open doorway with stairs leading down. In the gloom Alorra could see a glow of firelight coming from the chamber beyond.

"Get ready for a fight," Argis said in a low voice.

"They shouldn't see us right away," Alorra whispered back. "There are stairs leading down to the right beyond that doorway, and we'll have to double-back to get into the room. There are large support columns, and a raised platform toward the back of the room."

By now Argis and Petra didn't even question her foreknowledge of the ruins. They nodded, and Petra readied her bow.

They crept down the stairs as quietly as they could, keeping to the shadows and using the stone support columns as cover. As the chamber opened up, they could see that the far left wall had been set up with holding cages, which contained a score or more scared-looking young people in rags and tatters. The raised area at the back of the room had been set up with an altar to Melek Taus. Several priests were there, setting up the dread ceremony which would soon take place. The effigy of Melek Taus leered above them on the wall behind the altar.

At the bottom of the steps a figure was kneeling, chained to the floor. His horned head and reddish skin would have made anyone from Alorra's old life think they'd met the Lord of Evil himself, Melek Taus. But she knew in an instant it wasn't the Enemy.

"By Ysmir's beard!" Argis breathed. "Is that who I think that is?"

"Is that Melek Taus?" Petra hissed. "Why is he chained?"

"That's not our Enemy," Alorra murmured. "That's Sanguine, the Daedric Prince of Revelry."

"How did he get here?" Argis demanded, barely above a whisper. "And how could they have captured a Daedric Prince?"

"I don't know," Alorra admitted. "But we have to try to save him."

"How?" Petra asked, her blue eyes widening in fear and wonder. Alorra was struck, not for the first time, just how young the girl was. Though she herself didn't look very much older than the little blonde thief, Petra could not have seen more than sixteen summers.

"Give me a moment to think," Alorra said, her mind running ahead. The other two sat patiently, trusting that she would come up with a good idea. She hadn't failed them yet.

Sanguine, she knew, was part of a side quest in the game. If the player progressed through the quest, they would eventually win the Daedric Prince's staff, the Sanguine Rose, which could summon a Dremora from the planes of Oblivion to fight for the player. They could use something like that now.

Wait. She _did_ have something like that. Not exactly the Sanguine Rose, but something perhaps a bit better.

Quickly, she outlined her idea to the others.

"You sure you want to free a Daedric Prince?" Argis murmured doubtfully.

"Quite sure," she insisted. "Let's stick to the plan this time, okay?"

"You're the Boss Lady," Petra said, readying her bow.

At her signal they moved forward. Alorra let Argis and Petra rush past her as she stopped behind Sanguine.

"What's happening?" the Daedra demanded. "Who are you?"

"A friend, I hope," Alorra said. She pointed two fingers at the chains and locks holding Sanguine to the floor. Her power was almost bursting within her. _OPEN!_ she silently commanded. The locks snapped open and the chain links burst. The sudden backwash of energy from them sent her flying backwards. Magical locks. Of course. She should have expected that, she thought groggily, shaking her head to clear it as she got back on her feet. It would take more than ordinary chains to hold a Daedric Prince.

Freed, Sanguine roared in indignation and swept down the hallway past the cages and raised platform. Alorra heard screams and explosions coming from that direction as she staggered to her feet. From the altar area she heard the sounds of fighting and knew that Petra and Argis were dealing with the necromancers.

She quickly threw a protective shield around the caged prisoners and went to help her two companions. Judging from the noise further down the corridor, she didn't think Sanguine needed any.

Argis had already taken out three of the priests, and Petra could account for two more. Alorra was suddenly wreathed in flames coming from behind her, and she gasped at the searing pain. One of the fire-mages had circled around, in an effort to escape Sanguine's wrath, no doubt, and had come down the same stairs they had used to enter this chamber.

Alorra had to put up her shield around herself, leaving the prisoners unguarded. She had no choice. The fire was too intense to ignore. She soon saw why; the mage had a staff in his hand, pointing it at her. A huge ball of flame enveloped her again, diffused somewhat this time by her shield, but Alorra worried for the safety of the prisoners. She could back up to the cages and extend the shield to protect them as well, but it would leave her very little magicka to deal with the fire-mage.

It was time to implement the other half of her plan. She pulled the Wabbajack off her back and pointed it at the minion of Melek Taus. As Petra had done before her, she cried out, _"WABBAJACK!"_

The effect was as ingenious as it was unpredictable. The staff in the priest's hand turned into a very large snake, which began to coil itself around the man's neck. Stunned and terrified, the priest frantically tried to pull the reptile off him, and only succeeded in becoming further entangled in its embrace. The snake constricted, and the man's screams were cut short as he gasped for breath.

"Don't kill him yet," Alorra told the snake, who looked at her and flicked its tongue. "I need a few answers. Just hold him there." The snake ducked its head in obedience as Argis and Petra returned, having dealt with the remaining necromancers at the altar.

"Do you hear that?" Petra asked, breathlessly, sheathing her bow on her back once more.

"No," Alora said, puzzled. "Hear what?"

"Silence," Petra said. "I guess Sanguine must have taken care of the rest of the minions."

"Sanguine has indeed exacted revenge on these misguided mortals," said the Daedric Prince, coming down the stone steps behind them. "And I have the three of you to thank for it. If there's anything you need, just name it."

Petra, for once, said nothing. The presence of a Daedric Lord was almost too much for the perky thief. She quickly backed away and went over to the cages to release the prisoners and send them home.

"How did they manage to capture you?" Alorra asked, amazed.

"By guile and trickery," Sanguine frowned. "Somehow their leader, a man named Ragnvald, knew I frequented this place once upon a time. It's the closest location to the portal to my own plane of Oblivion. He set a trap for me, which I fell into. That's all I'll say about that. I'm not very proud of being duped."

"Why capture a Daedric Prince, though?" Alorra wanted to know.

"Are you kidding me?" Sanguine snorted. "You mortals have been summoning, capturing, enslaving and killing Dremora for centuries, using their hearts to make your Daedric armor and healing potions. How much more powerful would the heart of a Daedric Lord be?"

"A lot more powerful," Argis mused. "Powerful enough to…I don't know…maybe bring someone back from the dead? These guys _were_ necromancers, after all."

"Ah, the big Nord has more than muscle between the ears!" Sanguine grinned. "I don't know what's been going on here in Nirn since the last time I visited, but things are changing, and not for the better! A few of the Daedra seemed to have gone missing, and no one seems to know what's happened to them. But since you mortals are mostly afraid of us, you haven't really cared, either."

Daedric Princes were missing? This was important! "Who's missing?" Alorra asked.

Sanguine's brow wrinkled, and he petted the snake absently. The constrictor seemed to like it, tightening its hold on the priest, who whimpered in response.

"Let me think," he said. "Boethiah was the first one to vanish. After her I think it was Mehrunes Dagon….or was it Molag Bal? No, I'm certain Mehrunes disappeared before Molog. And more recently, Mephala has been missing."

"How do you know they're missing, and not just ignoring us mortals?" Argis asked skeptically.

"Because their Shrines are vanishing, idiot," Sanguine shot back. "They're being replaced with _those_ hideous things." He pointed to the effigy of Melek Taus. "And here I thought you were smart."

Argis bristled, but said nothing. This _was_ a Daedric Prince, after all, and he _had _just done them a huge favor in taking out the remaining followers of the Enemy still left in Morvunskar.

"I see you have the Wabbajack," Sanguine continued. "Very handy, I must say, if unpredictable. But then, Sheogorath never was one for predictability. I think you might get some use from this." Out of thin air, he pulled the staff Alorra recognized from a lifetime ago, the Sanguine Rose. It was even more beautiful than she remembered. The Daedric Prince handed it to her, and she accepted it almost reverently before the Lord of Revelry stepped close to her. Even with the horns and red-toned skin, he was actually quite handsome, she thought.

"Take out this Melek Taus," he told her grimly. "I don't know who he is, but I know what he wants. He wants to take over Nirn, and he's doing it one Daedric Prince at a time. If you three hadn't come along, I might have ended up on the list of casualties."

"What about him?" Argis said, pointing to the priest. Killing someone in battle was one thing, but he had no stomach for killing someone in cold blood. He also didn't like how close the Prince was standing to Alorra. It seemed too…intimate, somehow.

"I'll take him home with me," Sanguine grinned. "I'm sure I can find some use for him."

The priest's eyes widened in fear, and he struggled against the snake, who hissed warningly.

"No! Please!" he begged. "Anything but that! I'll tell you anything you want to know!"

Alorra stepped up to him. "How do I know you would be speaking the truth?" she demanded. "Your false god is the Father of Lies, after all."

"I swear to you," the man pleaded. "On anything you want me to swear upon, I'll tell you what I know," he promised. "Just don't let _him_ take me!" He nodded at Sanguine, who leered at him.

"Don't trust him," Argis growled. "He'll say anything to avoid what's coming to him."

"I don't trust him," Alorra said. "But I trust I can make him tell me the truth." She let her power build then released it with a gesture, pointing a finger and touching the priest's lips with it.

_"Truth,"_ she breathed. The man shuddered, and even Sanguine took a step back.

"I've never seen anyone do that before! You're no ordinary mage," he observed, in a tone of near-respect.

Argis threw the Prince a look of smug amusement. "You have no idea," he grinned.

"Now," said the red-haired girl, "tell me what's going on at Sarthaal."

"All I know is they were going to try to bring Melek Taus into Tamriel there," the priest said. "They were going to try to tap into the power left behind by the Eye of Magnus." He began to squirm uncomfortably, and Alorra gestured for the snake to let go. She was quite sure the fire-mage wouldn't be able to escape before she got her answers. The constrictor reluctantly loosened its grip and slid over to Sanguine, who stroked it absently between the eyes as it coiled lightly around his shoulders.

"You said they were going to try," Alorra said. "Is that what all the souls were to be used for?"

"Partly," the priest admitted. "But the Psijic Monks prevented us from entering Sarthaal, so we had to abandon that plan."

"And where is Ragnvald now?"

"I can answer that one," Sanguine said grimly. "I ripped his head off down the corridor there. You might want to exit the way you came in, if that sort of thing makes you squeamish."

That was one loose end, Alorra thought with no twinge of regret. But it left another.

"Then what about Mathias Blackheart?" she asked.

The priest began to squirm again, and Alorra had a feeling she knew what was happening, but this time she was ready. She sent of tendril of her energy out to wrap around the priest's mind, to shield it, and immediately she felt resistance.

"No!" the man cried. "I can't—tell you—anymore!" He gasped. "He's there! In my mind! He'll kill me!"

Suddenly the man's countenance changed, his eyes went completely black and his face lost all expression. _"You insolent worm!"_ came a Voice from the man's mouth that was so obviously not his own. This one sounded ages old, and hinted at great evil.

"Melek Taus," Alorra said, as calmly as she could, though panic raced through her. "So nice of you to join us. We were just talking about you."

_"This one is mine, Outworlder,"_ said the Voice. _"You cannot keep him from me. I claim my own."_

The man stiffened, but Alorra threw more of her energy into the shield around the priest's mind.

"My Boss is more powerful than you, Melek Taus," she gritted, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. "We won't let you take over Tamriel!"

Alorra felt the priest's mind cracking under the stress. Melek Taus' influence was too deeply ingrained in the man. If she continued to try to protect him, she would only end up draining herself, and reducing the man before her into a blithering imbecile. But if she let go now, his soul would be lost forever.

_I need help! _she prayed. It came from a most unexpected quarter.

"I claim this one for _my_ own, Melek Taus," declared Sanguine. He put his hand on Alorra's shoulder, and power such as she had seldom felt surged through her. "This man is _my_ servant now, so begone! Get your ass out of here!"

With the power coming from Sanguine, Alorra found she was able to push Melek Taus' influence out of the fire-priest's mind completely; it vanished, howling, back to the Void from which it had come.

The priest collapsed, blubbering, to the ground. Alorra wobbled, wanting to follow, but Argis appeared on one side, and Petra on the other to support her.

"Thank you, my lord Sanguine," she said unsteadily to the Daedric Prince. "Your assistance was as welcome as it was…unexpected."

"I owed you one, my dear," the Daedra smiled and winked. "Now, I'll just take my new pet here and be on my way."

"Must you?" Alorra pleaded. "The Enemy's influence is gone, and this is a broken man. He's no real threat to anyone now." _At least I saved his mind and soul,_ she thought.

Sanguine looked down at the weeping priest. "Who said anything about _him_?" he grinned. "I was talking about this _marvelous_ snake!" He crooned at the reptile. "Aren't you just the sweetest little ophidian, hmm?" In the blink of an eye, and with a warping sound, he and the snake vanished.


	11. Chapter 10

Deum Occidere

Chapter 10

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

Alorra left Morvunskar with Argis and Petra in a troubled frame of mind. She was still no closer to defeating the Enemy than she'd been when she first came to Skyrim, though she had learned much in that time.

The dark elf fire-mage—whose name they learned was Einar—begged to accompany them. The after-effect of her spell had reduced him to speaking only the truth, "From now on, I fear," as he put it. "I will spend the rest of my life in servitude to Arkay, and if he is willing, perhaps someday I may be able to forgive myself for the things I have done, and for which I am truly sorry."

Argis still didn't trust him, but Alorra assured the big Nord that Einar would do them no harm. As they left the ruins and turned their steps towards Windhelm, the closest city, she mulled over the facts in her mind.

Firstly: that the cult of Melek Taus was attempting to bring the ancient god of evil here to Tamriel. Secondly: they were sacrificing young people for their souls' energy to use in the attempt. Thirdly: they were taking over the Tamrielic Shrines of the Daedric Lords for their power and strategic locations around Skyrim.

This latest information troubled her deeply. It told her that Melek Taus' presence in Skyrim had been here for much longer than she had anticipated. Sanguine had implied that the heart of a Daedric Lord would be powerful enough to raise the dead. The hearts of several might be enough to bring a being as powerful as Melek Taus through whatever portal his minions were trying to construct to bring him to the realm of Nirn. The fact that the Psijic Monks had kept the cult out of Sarthaal was something for which she was truly grateful. She wished, not for the first time however, that the College of Winterhold was still in existence. The vast repository of knowledge in the library there would have helped.

She mentioned her concerns to her friends.

"If I may offer my insight," Einar began diffidently. Argis scowled, but Alorra nodded for him to proceed. "There are—or I should say _were_—sixteen Daedric Lords. My former associates and I were able to capture four. Sanguine—" here he shuddered, "—would have been the fifth. There are still eleven others out there, and I know that plans were being made to take over their Shrines and capture those Daedric Lords as well. It was my understanding that Mel—" here he choked, coughed and gasped. "My apologies. I cannot even say his name now. The _Enemy_," he insisted, "needed to obtain all sixteen hearts, to be used all at once in a specific ceremony. You have forestalled his acquisition of Sanguine's, but that doesn't mean he won't try again."

"Where have they kept the other four Princes?" Alorra asked, but Einar shrugged helplessly.

"I wasn't privy to that information, I'm afraid," he confessed.

"But with eleven other Daedric Lords," Petra complained, "how do we know where the Enemy will strike next?"

Argis mused under his breath, "Figures he'd start with the ones closest to his own nature."

"What did you say, Argis?" Alorra queried.

"Well, you've told us this Melek Taus was an ancient god of evil where you came from," he explained. "Boethiah was the first one he took. She was the Prince of Plots. Then Mehrunes Dagon, the Prince of Destruction, followed by Molog Bal, the Daedric Prince of Corruption, and finally Mephala, the Webspinner."

Alorra nodded. "I think you've hit on something, Argis. Who does that leave?"

"There's Namira and Peryite," Einar offered. "Princes of Decay and Pestilence, respectively."

"We've already had the pestilence," Alorra said wryly. "But that doesn't mean it couldn't happen again if the cult goes after Peryite's Shrine. Who else?"

"There's Nocturnal," Petra said, hesitantly. "She's the patron of people like me."

"Thieves, dear," Alorra said firmly. "Don't beat about the bush. I know what you are."

"Alright then," Petra pouted, "of thieves like me. We call her the Mistress of Shadows."

"Sanguine mentioned Sheogorath, Prince of Madness, already," Argis said. "He saw the Wabbajack."

"There's also Vaermina, Weaver of Dreams," said Einar, "and Clavicus Vile, the Master of Insidious Wishes, and Malacath, the Creator of Curses."

"And rounding out that list would be the ones considered to be not inherently evil," mused Alorra. "Those would be Azura, Hircine, Meridia and Hermaeus Mora."

The Daedric Princes of Dusk and Dawn, the Hunt, Light and Forbidden Knowledge, respectively, she knew.

"I wouldn't exactly call any of them good," Argis frowned. "Any of them would manipulate you into doing something for them before they'd do anything for you."

"Isn't that what we've just done for Sanguine?" Alorra pointed out. "We helped him out of a jam, and he gave me this very nice staff." She reached back to caress the Sanguine Rose where it rested next to the Wabbajack.

"I still don't like having dealings with the Daedric Princes," Argis scowled. "I just know this is going to come back to bite us."

Alorra felt certain he was correct, but said nothing.

"So, where do we go next?" Petra asked.

"For now, Windhelm," Alorra said firmly. "I'd like to speak to the court wizard there and see what insight they can give us."

Einar left them at the gate of the ancient Nord city and headed directly to the Hall of the Dead, to offer his services to Arkay as he had promised. Alorra wasn't sorry to see him go, but was grateful for the parting information he'd given her.

"The Enemy knows who you are now," he warned them. "And he knows what you can do. You've bloodied his nose, and that's not anything he'll be likely to forget. I'd be very careful from now on, if I were you. He has ways of getting to you through the things and people you care about the most. Good luck."

It was a troubled threesome that walked up the steps to the Candlehearth Inn and went inside. They took two rooms and stowed their gear while they made their plans. It was decided to let Petra sell off the items they had collected from Morvunskar. She had contacts in the city and could get the best prices for their plunder. Argis headed upstairs to the common room to find out what rumors might be floating around.

Alorra released the souls from the gems they had found—there were fewer than they'd found even in Fellglow Keep—then left the inn and made her way to the Palace of the Kings to speak with the court wizard, whoever that might be.

"Court wizard?" scoffed the guard at the entrance. "We haven't had one of those around here for years!"

"What about Wuunferth, the Unliving?" she asked.

The man laughed. "He _died_," he sneered. "Seems all his magic couldn't keep that from happening. After all, it wasn't like he was a Dunmer or anything like that!"

No, she supposed not. "But didn't the Jarl replace him?" she asked.

The guard's face was hidden by his helmet, but it couldn't hide the disparaging tone in his voice. "We Nords don't hold with magic," she was told, not for the first time. "Wuunferth died over fifty years ago, when Jarl Solveig was just a girl, and she never saw the need to bring in a new wizard. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my watch."

Alorra was more upset by this news than she showed. There was no court wizard in Whiterun, either, and hadn't been one for many years. Winterhold and the entire College of Wizards had fallen into the sea just prior to, or around the same time all these court mages were dying off. There wouldn't have been anyone to hire, in that case, unless the Jarls wished to take in an unknown wandering mage with no accreditation. That didn't seem very likely, as was evidenced by the lack of mages she'd seen so far.

In fact, now that she thought of it, the only mages they had encountered were on the Enemy's side. She sank down on the nearest bench, her knees suddenly going weak with this epiphany. _This is part of the plan,_ she thought. _He's not just trying to come to Nirn and take over, he's been eliminating anyone who could have stopped him for the last eighty years!_

Stunned by this revelation, Alorra hurried back to Candlehearth Inn and sought out Argis upstairs. He had his head close to three adventurer-types over several bottles of mead at a corner table, and she decided her news could wait. She went downstairs to speak with the innkeeper.

"Tell me something," she asked the woman. "You know quite a lot about the news around Skyrim, don't you?"

"I've already told that big handsome bodyguard of yours everything I know," the woman said, cannily. "Say, you two aren't…together, are you?"

"What?" Alorra felt herself blushing again. Dammit! What was wrong with her? "No!" she said quickly. "We travel together, that's all. As you said, he's my bodyguard." She turned away; this conversation was clearly over, having taken a turn she didn't wish to pursue.

"Good," she heard behind her. "A man like that has…needs, I'm sure." Alorra fled to her room and slammed the door shut. She heard a sultry chuckle through the iron-bound oak.

Petra returned a couple hours later to find Alorra poring over one of the books left in the room. At least, she appeared to be reading, but when she didn't look up as the little blonde thief entered, and since she hadn't turned a page in the last several minutes, Petra knew something was troubling her Boss Lady.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked.

"About what?" Alorra returned, deliberately obtuse.

"About whatever it is that's got your smallclothes in a bundle," the cheeky blonde girl replied.

"No," said the older girl, stubbornly. "I don't want to talk about it. There's nothing to talk about. He can do whatever he likes. I don't care."

_Ah,_ thought Petra. _So it's that way._

"You know, for someone so smart," she began, "you're pretty ignorant about some things."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alorra demanded, putting the book down on the table with a bit more force than was truly necessary.

"You like him," Petra said simply. "So tell him."

"Him?" Alorra blinked. "Him who? I have no idea what you're talking about."

Petra chuckled. "You're a terrible liar, too," she grinned. "You should leave that sort of thing to a professional." She tapped her chest with her thumb smugly.

"It's complicated," Alorra sniffed, picking up the book again. She didn't notice that it was upside-down. "You wouldn't understand."

"I understand people," Petra insisted, gently taking the book, turning it right side up and giving it back to her Boss Lady. "I like him, too," she continued. "But not the way you do. For me it's like having one of my big brothers around again. But you don't just like him. You love him. So tell him."

Alorra gave up on her book and set it down, more gently this time.

"It isn't that easy, Petra," she sighed. "I'm here to do a job. A very dangerous and complicated job, and one that I'm not even sure I should have involved the two of you in."

"You're not going to send us away," Petra said firmly.

Alorra laughed ruefully. "No," she admitted, "I'm not. I was told I would have help, and honestly, I don't think I could have accomplished as much as I have without either of you. But I don't want you to get hurt, either, or used as a pawn to get to me."

"Let _us_ worry about that," Petra insisted. "You do your job and let us do ours. And if you happen to fall in love along the way, where's the harm in that?"

"The harm is that it's a distraction," Alorra said. "Caring deeply for other souls is a lesson I needed to learn over several lifetimes. But it's never been so dangerous for me to love anyone as it has been in this life. The stakes are incredibly high, and if something were to happen to either of you, I'm not sure I could carry on."

"You would," Petra said confidently. "Because you'd know we'd want you to. And because you wouldn't want whatever might happen to us to happen to anyone else. And yes, I've thought about that, don't think I haven't."

Alorra smiled and shook her head. "Dear Petra," she sighed, hugging the younger girl. "There's an awful lot of wisdom locked up in that cunning little brain of yours."

"Yeah, well, don't let anyone know, okay?" the little blonde thief grinned. "It helps keep them off balance." Then she sobered. "So what are you going to do about the Big Guy?"

"For now, nothing," Alorra said firmly. "And you're not to breathe a word, understand? Promise me. Not. One. Word."

Petra looked as though she wanted to argue the point further, but after a moment she nodded. "Okay, Boss Lady," she agreed reluctantly. "I won't say anything."

They left the small bedroom to join Argis upstairs for an evening meal. As they ate, Alorra shared with them her insights about the lack of court wizards she'd noticed so far. Argis stopped with a forkful of stew halfway to his mouth.

"By the gods," he swore. "I think you may be onto something! There hasn't been a wizard at Understone Keep since my grandfather's day."

"There used to be one at Mistveil in Riften," Petra said. "She had a funny name, and I remember her being very scatter-brained."

"Wylandriah?" Alorra supplied, remembering the character from the game.

"That was it! Wylandriah!" Petra said. "She was court wizard for the Jarl, but she left a long time ago, when I was just a kid."

"You're _still_ a kid," Argis grinned, nudging her.

"You know what I meant," Petra scowled. "When I was younger than I am now. I think I was about ten or eleven when we heard about it."

"So that's fairly recent, given the information we already have," Alorra mused. "To your knowledge, either of you, is there a court wizard in the other Hold capitals?"

"I don't know," Argis admitted, while Petra shook her head. "But I think there's someone here who might." He stood then. "I'll be right back."

He returned a few moments later with a dark-haired young man dressed in finery, carrying a lute.

"This is Stian," Argis introduced. "He's a Bard from the College in Solitude, performing here in Windhelm. He might be able to help us."

"Hello, Stian," Alorra greeted him warmly. She always liked performers and entertainers. In one of her past lives, she had been a singer. "I'm Alorra and this is Petra. You've already met Argis. We're looking for information, and we're hoping you can help us."

"I would be happy to assist you, my lady," Stian said, his eyes drifting toward Petra. "As you know, we Bards are not only performers, but publicans as well. Of course, we oftentimes have to earn our keep based on the usefulness of the information we've obtained."

The hint was not lost on Alorra. She gave him a small handful of coins which he quickly pocketed. "May I?" he asked, indicating the empty chair at their table.

Alorra nodded. "Please," she invited. Stian seated himself, still throwing glances at Petra, who actually appeared to be blushing! Alorra filed this information away for future reference.

"Now, my lady," Stian began, "what would you like to know?"

"It's just 'Alorra', please," she chuckled. "Can you tell me if there's still a court wizard in Solitude?"

"Hmm," the bard mused. "Let me think for a moment. Sybille Stentor was court wizard until last year, when she left. She didn't say where she was going, or if she would return. I heard rumors that she was 'let go', but I don't know if they were true or not. One thing is certain, though, she'd been court wizard for as long as anyone could remember, but never seemed to age."

"Was she an elf?" Petra asked, remembering Wylandriah.

Stian gave her a glowing smile. "No," he said. "I thought she was a Breton, but I've never heard of a Breton living so long, or staying so young."

Privately, Alorra thought, _It probably has something to do with the fact she's a vampire. At least, she was in the game. Didn't anyone here pick up on that?_

"Where might she have gone?" she asked now.

Stian shrugged. "I have no idea," he admitted. "They might know at the Blue Palace, but they don't share that knowledge with a lowly bard like myself."

"What about in Morthal, Falkreath, or Dawnstar?" Alorra asked.

The bard shook his head. "I'm pretty sure there's no wizard in Morthal or Dawnstar. I don't get to those places often, but I've never seen anyone at the Jarls' longhouses in that capacity. And I know for fact there's no one in Falkreath now. There used to be an Altmer woman, named Nenya; she'd been Steward and mage for the Jarls there since anyone could remember. She was murdered a couple years ago. It was a terrible scandal."

"Murdered!" Alorra exclaimed in alarm, while Petra queried, "A scandal?"

"Yes, the Jarl's own son murdered her. Claimed she'd been poisoning his father's mind against him," Stian told them. "The truth was, the young man was doing skooma and it drove him to madness. The Jarl had to lock the young man up. He never replaced his wizard, though he did find another Steward."

"That's terrible!" Alorra exclaimed in dismay. This meant that of all the court wizards mentioned in the game, only Sybille Stentor and Wylandriah remained, and they were missing. She hoped "missing" didn't mean "disposed of in a discrete manner."

"Was there anything else you'd like to know?" Stian asked. "Like, am I free for dinner tonight?" He leaned into Petra's personal space, but she didn't seem to mind. "Because I am, you know. After my performance, that is. You'll stay for my performance, I hope?"

Petra could only gulp and nod. For some reason, she was uncharacteristically speechless around the bard. Argis chuckled under his breath and Alorra hid a grin. If Argis wasn't suspicious of Stian's motives, she knew the bard had already passed the character test. Argis would never let his "Pipsqueak" associate with someone of questionable morals.

Stian proved to be an outstanding performer. His rich tenor voice rang through the rafters of Candlehearth Inn and his lute playing was extraordinary, captivating his audience. The Inn was packed to capacity, and Alorra could see it was mainly for the entertainment provided by Stian that night. He sang many old favorites and got the crowd to sing along with him. He even did a quick dance routine to the rhythm of their clapping hands.

His last song was an instrumental piece, which he played with impeccable precision, frowning over his lute in complete concentration, letting his fingers pluck the strings in a rapid succession of chords and fretwork that amazed even Alorra, who could remember masterful compositions from her previous lives. The applause he received at the conclusion resounded through the hall, and the patrons showed their appreciation in the rounds of mead he was offered, as well as a generous amount of coin.

"That was simply beautiful!" Alorra smiled when he returned to their table. "I can't remember when I've had a more enjoyable evening!"

"My thanks, my la—uh, I mean, Alorra," he smiled. "It's always nice to know I've pleased my audience."

"After your performance tonight, I don't think there could be any doubt," she smiled, then stifled a yawn. "But I'm up way past my bedtime, and I need to get some sleep. The rest of you can stay up if you like. I think we'll stay in Windhelm one more day. I won't wait up for you."

Argis rose when she did. "I'm an early riser, too," he said. "I want to see about getting my armor repaired at the smithy tomorrow. It's been taking a beating. I'll walk you to your room."

"Are you going to abandon me, too, sweet Petra?" the bard asked her. The little blonde thief blushed crimson.

"No, I can stay a while longer, if you like," she said shyly. Her two companions grinned and waved as they headed down the back stairs.

"She'll be alright with him," Alorra said. It was a statement, not a question.

"He's a good lad," Argis assured her. "I've already asked about him. Not your usual womanizing kind of entertainer. Gretna, the innkeeper, says the boy doesn't even have a sweetheart, for all he's been here three months. Seems genuinely interested in his work."

"And genuinely interested in our Petra," Alorra added. "I hope they don't end up breaking each others' hearts." She stopped at the door of the room she shared with the younger girl. "I'll see you in the morning, Argis," she smiled.

"Before you go," he hesitated, "I need to ask you something."

He sounded serious, and Alorra was immediately on the alert.

"Of course," she said, warily. "What's on your mind?"

"Not here, in the hallway," he said. "But I didn't want to worry the Pipsqueak, either." He opened the door of his room and waved her in. She hesitated for the barest moment before going in. Argis followed and closed the door.

"Sit down," he invited, waving at the chair, and she took the seat he offered. Argis sat on the bed.

"What's this about, Argis?" she asked.

"I wanted to know, can the Enemy get inside your head?" he asked.

"_MY_ head?" she repeated, startled. "No, I'm sure he can't."

"No, I mean mine, or anyone else's," Argis clarified. He looked worried.

Alorra's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Tell me what's been going on, Argis," she said calmly.

He took a deep breath before continuing. "For the last few weeks, when we've had a chance to rest, I've been having some disturbing…dreams, I guess you could call them. But they seem very real at the time."

"Dreams about what?"

Argis shook his head. "I'd rather not say," he answered. There was no way he would tell her that they had involved her. "Let's just say I was being offered something I wanted very much. But it seemed wrong to accept it."

Alorra thought about this for a long moment. She could almost imagine what kind of dreams a man like Argis might have that he wouldn't want to talk about. Finally she spoke.

"You were right to bring this to me. It means the Enemy is already trying to break us apart."

"By promising us something we want?" the big Nord asked, skeptically.

"The Enemy very often works that way, Argis," she said seriously. "He will promise you your heart's desire, but seldom delivers on those promises. Only when you accept the offer do you realize that in doing so, you've given him your soul, like Einar did." She looked her companion straight in the eyes. "He's not called the 'Father of Lies' for nothing. He can't give you what isn't his to give."

Argis considered her words. Eventually, he nodded. "It makes sense," he said finally. "But how do you prepare for that kind of attack? I can fight any man or woman who comes at me with a weapon or a spell, but how do you fight a dream?"

"By realizing that it _is_ only a dream," Alorra said firmly. "And by having faith."

"Faith?"

"Yes," she affirmed. "You have to have faith in yourself; faith in your friends; faith in your gods."

"You mean _your_ Boss," he snorted. He had a feeling it would come down to converting to another religion.

Alorra shook her head. "No, Argis," she contradicted. "My Superior is not a deity of Nirn, merely a…concerned Overseer. And I'm one of the Agents. We aren't the ones trying to take over Tamriel. We just don't want the Enemy to succeed here. And we'll do what it takes to prevent that from happening." She stood. "Thank you for letting me know about this," she said. "If you'd like, I could perhaps put some kind of shield around your mind, to prevent it from happening again."

Argis shook his head firmly. He loved her, but he wasn't going to let her into his mind. "That won't be necessary," he said, going to the door to open it for her. "I know what's going on, now. I'll be ready if it happens again."

"Then I'll say goodnight, Argis," Alorra smiled. She stood on her tiptoes and gently kissed his cheek. "Believe in yourself," she said. "And in your gods, and in everything they mean to you. The Enemy can't touch you then." She smiled again, then turned and went to her room.

Argis closed the door and sat back down on the bed, touching the spot on his cheek that she had kissed. He almost wished he'd followed through on his instinct to kiss her properly, but once again his sense of honor prevented him. And he wasn't going to give the Enemy the satisfaction of winning that round. He carefully removed his armor and placed his greatsword within easy reach before stretching out and falling asleep.

_ It was the same familiar place, though he couldn't remember how he got here. He knew he been here before, but only in his dreams. He knew the room, the furnishings, the bed—especially the bed. She was waiting there for him now, stretched out, with her glorious red hair spilling over the covers. Unbound, it flowed past her waist. She wore nothing, but was covered with a fur pelt. She raised her arms._

_ "Come to me, my love!" she called._

_ He moved forward, though a voice in the back of his mind said this was wrong._

_ "What's wrong about it?" she purred. "I love you, and you want me, I can tell."_

_ He was naked. His arousal was obvious for anyone to see, but they were the only two people in the room._

_ "How did you-?" he began._

_ "Hush," she cooed, placing a finger to his lips. "Kiss me, my love," she breathed, reaching up with her arms to bring him down to her. The fur slipped away, revealing two perfect breasts, a small, curvy waist above hips that were not-too-generous, but soft and pliable. And at the juncture of her thighs, red curls rioted, begging to be parted._

_ "Yes, my love," she moaned. "Take me! Fuck me as hard as you can!" She pressed her breasts against him, her lips reaching up to his._

_ He tore himself away._

_ "What's the matter, my love?" she frowned. "Don't I excite you? Don't you want to fuck me?"_

_ "This isn't real!" he growled harshly. "YOU aren't real!"_

_ She smiled, but there was menace in it. "Of course I'm real, don't be ridiculous! Come to bed, my love!"_

_ "Stop calling me that!" he snarled. "You're not HER. Get out!"_

_ "Not who?" she demanded._

_ He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped himself. "Oh, no you don't," he said shrewdly. "If you're really her, what do I call you?"_

_ "What kind of question is that?" she demanded, irritated. For a heartbeat her face was a thundercloud of malice, which quickly cleared. "Oh, this is silly, my love!" She softened her features and the pleading tone was back. "Here we are arguing when we should be fucking like rabbits! Take me now!" She leaned back and opened her legs._

_ "No!" he rejected. He flipped a corner of the furs back over her. "You're not her, so get out!"_

_ "Fine, then," she snarled. "What gave it away?"_

_ "I'll keep that to myself for now." He gave her a feral grin. "Just in case you try something like this again. Now get out and stay out!"_

He woke in a cold sweat. Breathing heavily, Argis sat up and ran a hand through his hair. That was the most vivid one so far, but he gave a grunt of satisfaction. He'd beaten it this time! The Enemy had tried to use his own desires against him, but couldn't answer his simple question. Though the image he had sent to Argis looked like Alorra, he knew his Bright Eyes would never use language like that!

Argis settled himself back down to get what sleep he could the rest of the night. He had a feeling there would be no more visions sent his way. _One for our side,_ he thought contently, before sleep claimed him.


	12. Chapter 11

Deum Occidere

Chapter 11

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

Petra wasn't in her bed when Alorra awoke late the next morning. Only the fact that the furs had been rumpled told her the little blonde thief had been in it at all.

She wandered upstairs to find something to eat and saw Argis, breaking his fast in a corner. He waved her over with a smile.

"Have you seen Petra?" Alorra asked as she sat down.

"She was up early," he nodded, "in spite of being up late." He grinned. "She said she had a few last things to try and sell, so she was going to see if any Guild contacts remained in the city."

A frown crossed Alorra's brow. She knew Petra was a thief; she accepted and appreciated the girl's skills as they travelled, but she didn't have to like it. "I just hope she's careful," she worried now. "We can't afford to make mistakes right now."

"She'll be fine," Argis said confidently. "What were your plans for today?"

"I think I'm going to try to talk to Jarl Solveig," Alorra said. "I'd like to know a little more about what may be going on in the rest of Skyrim."

"Sounds like a good idea," he agreed. "You can manage that on your own, I imagine?"

Alorra nodded, amused. "Yes, Argis, I think I can. I know you want to get your armor repaired."

"I can't protect you if I can't protect myself," he grinned. "If you don't mind, I'd better get going." He excused himself and left the Inn. Alorra looked after him, bemused. He seemed to be in good spirits this morning, in spite of his concerns the night before. She hoped that meant he'd conquered whatever was bothering him. She frowned slightly as a thought occurred to her. It could also mean he'd "satisfied an itch", as someone in her past life had once called it.

She gave herself a mental shake. It was none of her business. She quickly ordered a simple breakfast and concentrated on what she wanted to tell Jarl Solveig, if she could get in to see the woman. The innkeeper, Gretna, eyed her curiously as she delivered the food.

"What is it about you?" she complained. "I tried most of last night to get that handsome bodyguard of yours to notice me, but he barely even glanced in my direction!"

Alorra shrugged, though inside she was doing a happy-dance. "I can't imagine," she demurred, but spoiled the modest effect by giving the older woman a smug smile. Gretna sniffed and stalked off.

So Argis didn't take the innkeeper up on her blatant offers? This made her feel unaccountably jubilant, and it was with a more positive outlook that she entered the Palace of the Kings later to seek an audience with Jarl Solveig.

It was difficult convincing the Steward, Linder, to allow her to approach, but the Jarl spoke insistently to the man.

"Let her come forward, Linder, you old fusspot. I could use a fresh face around here!"

Alorra ducked her head in thanks and approached the throne, set on a raised dais at the end of the meadhall. Jarl Solveig was a woman of perhaps seventy years, with iron gray hair and piercing blue eyes that missed nothing. She was dressed in fine woolen and furs, with a circlet of silver and sapphires on her head. Her lined face was marked by the many years of care and worry that went with ruling a major city.

"Who are you," she demanded now, "and what do you want?"

"My name is Alorra—" the younger girl began, but the Jarl cut her off.

"Alorra!" she exclaimed. "I know that name! Come closer!"

The red-haired healer stepped confidently closer. Jarl Solveig peered at her closely, and Alorra remained quiet under the scrutiny.

"Yes," the Jarl said. "You _are_ the one Jarl Torolf wrote to me about."

"The Jarl of Whiterun wrote to you about _me_?" Alorra asked in wonder.

"He sent all the Jarls of Skyrim letters about your exploits down there," Solveig said. "You've been in my city since yesterday," she continued. "Why haven't you come to see me before now?"

"My apologies, my Lady," Alorra said, dropping a curtsey out of respect. "I had no idea you even knew about me!"

"Hmph!" Jarl Solveig snorted. "Then you underestimate the importance of what you did in Whiterun. You kept a disastrous plague from sweeping over Skyrim, is what you did."

"I'm glad I was able to help," the younger girl replied modestly.

"Oh, stuff the innocent act," the Jarl said rudely. "You and I are going to have a private talk. Linder, see that we're not disturbed. Follow me, young lady," she ordered, rising from her throne and heading for her private quarters.

Not having much choice, and knowing it was what she wanted anyway, Alorra followed the Jarl. The guards fell in behind them but stopped at the door. As soon as they were through, they closed the doors, leaving Alorra alone with the Jarl of Windhelm.

Solveig headed for a side table where a bottle of mulled wine rested with two crystal goblets. "Some wine?" she asked, hefting the bottle.

Usually Alorra didn't, but she had no wish to appear churlish of hospitality, so she inclined her head.

"Sit down, sit down," Solveig waved at her. "Get comfortable. I have a feeling this could take a while." She brought the glasses and the bottle to the low table which sat between two very large, plush-looking chairs. She sat in one, and after a heartbeat, Alorra sat in the other.

"Now," said the Jarl. "I want you to tell me everything about yourself. I already know quite a bit from Torolf's letter. I've known him since he was a boy, and he's not a man given over to flights of fancy. So, tell me, Alorra," she gave the younger girl a keen look, "just who are you, and where do you come from?"

_You can trust her._

The whispered words in her mind were all she needed. Alorra began at the beginning, from her first day in Skyrim, explaining her mission and relating to the Jarl all that had passed since then.

Jarl Solveig was quiet for a long time, sipping her wine and staring at some point between the two women.

"You've done me a great service," she said finally, "freeing our young people the way you did. I'm truly grateful for that."

"I wish I could have done more," Alorra admitted. "Mathias Blackheart escaped, and I'm sure he had more soul gems with him."

"You did what you could," Solveig insisted. "I'm confident you'll catch up to him soon." She was quiet for several long moments, thinking over what the younger girl had told her. "So this was all a game?" she murmured. "I hadn't expected that."

"It was only a game there," Alorra insisted, "in that time and place. And it followed the Dragonborn's story. Remember what my Superior told me. Here, it's very real, and I have no idea how it will come out."

"Yes, I remember," Solveig said pensively. "Anything imagined is real." She looked up at the younger girl. "And now we're being threatened again, with no Dragonborn to save us."

"No, I'm sorry," Alorra said. "There's only me and my friends."

Jarl Solveig chuckled. "The Dragonborn was, at one time, 'only a man'," she said. "I knew him, you know."

"You did?" Alorra asked, her eyes lighting up. "What was he like?"

The Jarl smiled. "A lot like you, my dear. I was a child then, but I remember my father telling me stories about the Dragonborn: stumbling around, trying to help people, and hoping he didn't make too many mistakes in the process." Her blue eyes looked into the distant past. "He would visit us, from time to time, to see if Windhelm needed help. He was a man of honor, facing impossible odds. But he didn't back down, and he didn't always do it alone," she continued. "He had help, from his Housecarls, followers, people he'd helped, even from the Jarls."

She focused on Alorra again. "I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for the Dragonborn. His efforts put my father, Brunwulf Free-Winter, here on the throne. He backed up my claim, when the Cruel-Seas contested it. I've worked very hard these past fifty years or so to honor that faith. The Dunmer are no longer confined to the Grey Quarter. We even changed the name back to the Snow Quarter, so as to be less of an insult. Argonians and Khajiit are now welcome within the gates of the city."

"So what did you want from me, my Lady?" Alorra asked. She knew this had to be leading somewhere.

Solveig sighed. "I'm an old woman now," she said. "I have no family left to me, except a grandson, and he's been missing for almost a year now."

_Here it comes_, Alorra thought ironically.

"My last reports of his whereabouts were in the Reach. He'd gone out there to meet with Jarl Fenris; a sort of diplomatic introduction. I've been grooming the boy to take my place since he was left in my care at the age of three."

"What happened to his parents?" Alorra blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Lost at sea," Solveig said sadly. "My beautiful daughter and her handsome husband, gone like that." She snapped her fingers. "Now the boy, Balder, is all I have left. He's about your age…well," here the Jarl chuckled sardonically. "He's about the age you appear to be, young Outworlder. He has his father's dark hair and his mother's grey eyes. The official report is that his caravan was attacked by Forsworn. My spies tell me otherwise."

"You have spies?" Though she should have known better, the thought still startled her.

Solveig let out a hearty laugh. "All Jarls have spies," she told the younger girl. "It's how we keep up with what's not being said in the official reports."

"And your spies told you your grandson may still be alive?"

"Just so," the Jarl confirmed. "A boy fitting his description was seen in one of the Forsworn encampments in the northern part of the Reach, where it joins Haafingar."

"So they're keeping him prisoner," Alorra stated.

"No," Solveig said. "If it was only that, I could ransom him. My spies tell me the boy seems to have joined them!"

_Well now,_ Alorra thought,_ I didn't see that one coming!_

"So what do you want from me, my Lady Jarl?" Alorra repeated her earlier question.

"I would like you to go to the Reach," the Jarl smiled, "see if you can't find my grandson, rescue him if he needs it, or convince him to come home if he doesn't."

Alorra blew out a long breath. "That's a tall order," she admitted.

"I'm confident you can handle it," Solveig said. "Anyone who can do what you've done so far should have no trouble finding one wayward jarlling. I'll give you all the particulars I know before you leave Windhelm."

"I'll try," Alorra promised. "But there's every chance he won't want to come home."

Solveig's eyes were troubled. "He has to," she murmured. "There's no one left to handle things here when I'm gone."

Alorra felt an outpouring of sympathy for the elderly Jarl. "I'll do my best," she said. "And now, if you wouldn't mind, may I ask a few questions that have been bothering me?"

"Absolutely," the Jarl said. "What's on your mind?"

Alorra broached the subject of the lack of court wizards to Solveig. The Jarl considered carefully before speaking.

"You know that Nords in general don't hold much about magic," she stated. At the younger girl's nod she continued. "Wuunferth the Unliving died at the age of eighty-six," she said. "He made me promise not to replace him."

"Why?" Alorra said, surprised.

"Because he told me that a great evil was coming." At the shocked look on Alorra's face, she grinned. "Yes, even then I knew something was happening. Wuunferth told me that if I brought in another wizard to replace him, that I would be harboring that evil in my own Palace. He said this evil was perverting magic to its own ends. When I asked him if the other Jarls were at risk, he concurred. So I sent private letters to the other Jarls telling them not to replace their court mages for their own protection. It seems they all took me up on that," she grinned smugly, "because none of the mages were replaced."

Alorra considered this. "Did you ever think," she began slowly, "that this was precisely what the Enemy wanted all along?"

Now it was Solveig's turn to look shocked. "You can't mean that!"

"It's something to think about," the red-haired girl replied. "With Winterhold nothing more than a memory now, and no other court mages to train the next generation, magic is slowly disappearing from Skyrim. The only ones who hold that power now seem to be the minions of the Enemy."

Solveig's face went ashen. "Then the Enemy had already gotten to Wuunferth! And I fell right into that trap, didn't I?" She suddenly looked much older. "I've been a damned fool!"

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Alorra said, patting the other woman's shoulder. "The Enemy is nothing if not calculating. It only proves that this is something that he's been planning for a long time."

"Then how can we stop something like that?" the Jarl breathed, still stunned by the implications.

"Let me worry about that," Alorra said. "It's what I was brought here to do."

"If there's anything you need, you let me know," Jarl Solveig said. "There's a house here in Windhelm you can use as a base of operations, if you like."

"Let me guess," Alorra said with a small smile. "Hjerim?"

Solveig blinked. "How did you know? Anyway, it used to belong to the Dragonborn when he stayed here. He gave it over to his Housecarl, a man named Calder, who lived there for many years. When Calder's line died out a couple years ago, ownership reverted back to me. It's yours now, if you want it." She rose and crossed to a small strongbox on a side table and took out a key. She handed the key to Alorra.

"Thank you, Jarl Solveig," Alorra said simply. "It will be nice to have a place to stay when we're here. And I promise I'll do everything I can to find your grandson."

"Thank _you_, Alorra," Solveig said, taking the girl's hands in her own. "And may the gods forgive me for being such a gullible fool!"

The area of Windhelm, formerly known as the "Grey Quarter", was still heavily populated by races other than Nord or Imperial. Many Dunmer still called the area home, but it wasn't a dark elf Petra was looking for. Furtively glancing around, to be sure she wasn't seen, she knocked on a particular door at the rear of a particular house.

A small panel slid back, revealing only a pair of golden eyes. "Who is it?" a muffled voice asked.

"A secret sister," Petra whispered.

"Wait one moment," the voice said. The panel slid closed, and the sounds of locks being opened rattled for a moment before the door opened barely wide enough for Petra to slip through.

The room beyond was dark, but she expected that.

"Who are you?" the voice asked again.

"My name is Petra," the girl replied. "I'm looking for Niranye."

"Why?"

"I have a few things she might be interested in," said the little blonde thief.

A tall figure stepped into the one circle of light cast by a solitary candle. "I don't know you," said the figure. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"I gave the password," Petra protested.

The figure snorted. "Anyone can give a password," it said. Petra couldn't be sure if the figure was male or female; she only knew it was Altmer. It was so difficult to tell males from females with that race, especially when cloaked. Their voices sounded similar also.

"Prove to me you're who you say you are," the figure said now.

Petra fumed inside. How could she prove who she was? The Altmer seemed determined not to trust anyone. She'd heard they could be incredibly paranoid.

"As Nocturnal is my witness," Petra said, "I'm with the Thieves' Guild in Riften. If you don't want to do business with me, fine. I'll take it elsewhere. I still have contacts." She turned to leave but the voice stopped her.

"Wait." The figure moved and lit a few other candles in the room. It pushed back the hood to reveal the angular lines of a tall, blonde, Altmer woman.

"Forgive the caution," said the woman, "but I have to be careful. I have enemies."

"Don't we all?" Petra quipped, the thought hitting home to her of just how great an Enemy she had now. "You're Niranye?" she asked.

"Indeed," confirmed the older woman. "You must be a new member."

"I've been with the Guild for three years now!" Petra said indignantly.

"That's still relatively new, in my experience," Niranye said. "However, you mentioned you had goods to show me? Is any of it hot?" She meant stolen, Petra knew.

"No, none of this stuff is," Petra said. "But I've just about tapped out the other merchants in town, and I still need to unload a few things, mostly jewelry."

"Let's have a look then," Niranye said. "Jewelry is easy to liquidate."

For the next half hour Petra negotiated with the Altmer woman.

"Are you certain you wish to sell all of this?" the High Elf asked. "Some of it is enchanted."

"Is it really?" Petra inquired. "I couldn't tell."

"The enchantments are very old, some of them," Niranye admitted. "You didn't just find these lying around. Where have you been?"

"I'd rather not say," Petra said. "But I didn't steal them."

"Keep your secrets," the elf sniffed. "It's what we do, after all. This ring, for example," she continued, holding up a plain silver band. "It's enchanted to allow you to breathe underwater. And this necklace here will protect you from magic being cast at you."

Petra pocketed those. "They're off the table, then," she declared.

"Are you sure?" Niranye frowned. "I'd give you a good price for them. The rest of this isn't worth as much as those two pieces."

"I have a feeling I'm going to need them," the little blonde thief said. "So thanks anyway. What's that piece there?" She pointed at an amulet that looked familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd seen something like it.

"Ah, that!" Niranye said. "I'm not surprised you don't recognize it. You don't see many of them around now. That's an amulet to the Nord hero-god Talos. Dangerous to carry around, you know. The Empire outlawed Talos worship a hundred years ago."

"I'll keep that, too, then," Petra said firmly.

"Have you got potatoes in your ears?" Niranye exclaimed. "Didn't you just hear me tell you that it's dangerous to carry that around? You'd better let me melt it down. I'll give you a fair price for the materials."

Petra stubbornly set her jaw. "I said I'll keep it," she insisted. "I know what I'm doing."

The Altmer woman shrugged. "It's your head, not mine. How much did you want for the rest?"

Now this was something Petra understood. The two women got down to the serious business of haggling over the amount of money to change hands. A quarter-hour later, Petra left Niranye's house the way she'd come in with a lighter loot bag and a heftier coin purse. She took a different route through the Snow Quarter, heading back to Candlehearth Inn. The Boss Lady was sure to be impressed with how much she'd been able to sell here in Windhelm.

"Hey! I know you!"

It was one of Windhelm's guards. Petra kept walking, ducking her head down.

"Wait! Stop right there."

Crap. There was no help for it. She stopped and turned. "I'm sure you're mistaken, sir," she said, as innocently as she could. Her quick eyes took into account the other guards closing in. Not good! Not good at all! They must have heard about a heist she'd done several months ago. She'd had a feeling then that she'd been seen; now it appeared she was correct.

"There's no mistake," he said severely. "You're a wanted woman, and it's time for you to pay for your crimes!"

No! She couldn't be thrown in jail! Not now! Desperately Petra looked around, but there was no escape. There were too many of them, and if she attempted to fight her way out, she might end up implicating the Boss Lady. It would be best to simply go along with it for now and wait for an opportune moment.

"Alright," she sighed. "You caught me. Take me to jail." She'd been in jail before, she thought. It wasn't like she couldn't break out again. She knew she had two or three lockpicks tucked up into her smallclothes.

"Smart woman," the guard sneered. "You'll be coming along with us now. You'll spend a little time in the Barracks Jail, after we remove any stolen goods from you, of course!"

Petra went cold. The Amulet of Talos! She'd almost forgotten about it! If they found that on her…

"I've changed my mind!" she cried, "I won't go to jail!" She ducked and tried to tumble past the guard, but he was too quick for her. She was grabbed roughly by the arm and hauled back. She fought like a sabre cat, but there were too many, and before long she was bound and gagged, with only her feet left free to walk.

"You'll come along quietly now," said the guard, menacingly, "or we'll carry you unconscious!"

Tears welled in Petra's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She'd figure a way out of this. She wasn't a Guild-member for nothing! _Dark Mistress help me!_ she prayed.

It was getting later in the afternoon and Alorra was getting worried. She hadn't seen Petra all day. Argis still wasn't back from the armorer's, but she expected that to take a while, and he'd gotten a late start waiting for her to come up for breakfast. Restless, she wandered the Stone Quarter, looking at all the wares on display, and spent a considerable amount of time—and money—in The White Phial, talking with the proprietor and purchasing potions. After several minutes of conversation he even allowed her to use the alchemy lab to create her own from the ingredients he'd sold her.

Wandering back outside, she approached the Altmer woman selling miscellaneous wares at one stall. She was fairly certain this was Niranye; in the game the woman had been a fence for the Thieves' Guild.

"Excuse me," she began. "I was wondering if you'd seen a friend of mine today. She's young, blonde, very pretty, and wears leather armor."

The Altmer woman looked at her impassively. "I'm sorry," she said. "That could describe any number of young women who come to do business in Windhelm. I'm afraid I can't help you."

Alorra felt her stomach drop. Of course, if Petra _had _been to see Niranye, there was no reason to believe that the Altmer woman would own up to it. Thieves generally protected their own. She tried unsuccessfully to not let her disappointment show on her face.

"Thank you anyway," she said. "If you do see her, though, would you tell her to come back to the Candlehearth? Her friends are getting worried about her."

The High Elf nodded, but said non-committedly, "If I see anyone matching your description of her, and if I get the opportunity, I'll mention it."

It was the best she could hope for, Alorra knew, and headed back to the Inn to see if Petra had shown up in the meantime.

Argis returned two hours later, armor repaired, and found Alorra in a state of near-panic. She quickly explained to him Petra's absence.

"I wouldn't worry just yet," he said, trying to ease her mind. But the prickle at the back of his neck made him uneasy. It shouldn't have taken this long for the Pipsqueak to sell off the few things she had left.

"Then where can she be?" Alorra worried. "She wouldn't have left Windhelm, would she?"

"Not without telling us," Argis said. "Look, if it makes you feel better, I'll go out and look for her. Windhelm's a lot safer than it used to be, but there are some areas where it can still be kind of rough."

"No," Alorra said. "We—I have to trust her. She might even be on her way back now. We should be here for her."

Argis nodded, but his gut was telling him something wasn't right. They waited another hour, picking at their meal, before he stood and said, "Okay, I think we'd better try to find her. It's getting dark, and even the Pipsqueak should have been back by now. Besides, we haven't paid for the rooms for tonight. I wasn't sure you wanted to stay."

"We don't need to stay here," Alorra said. "We have another place." She quickly filled him in about the Jarl's gift and suggested they move their belongings there, then return to the Inn in case Petra showed up.

Alorra was troubled as they returned to the Candlehearth. "She didn't leave much behind," she told Argis. "Just a few things that didn't seem important."

He nodded. "She kept the stuff that mattered to her," he said. "Just in case she'd have to leave in a hurry."

A cold fear gripped Alorra. "Argis, you don't think—"

"What?" he demanded.

"Could she have taken the money from the things she sold and ditched us?"

Argis vehemently shook his head. "Not the Pipsqueak," he said flatly. He refused to believe it. She'd made such a fuss about coming along with them in the first place, and Argis prided himself on being a good judge of character.

"Where do we start looking, then?" Alorra said. "I talked to someone today whom I thought Petra might have contacted, but she wasn't very helpful."

"Who?" Argis asked. Alorra told him about Niranye, and her role in the game.

He considered this. "If the Pipsqueak saw her today, she wouldn't tell you," he reasoned. "At least, not out in public like that. Do you know where she lives?"

Alorra nodded. "You think we might be able to get more out of her in private?"

Argis cracked his knuckles. "I'm counting on it," he said with a grim smile.

Niranye at first refused to open her door. "Go away or I'll call for the guards," she said through the door. "I've already told you I haven't seen your friend!"

"And what if Jarl Solveig knew of your other connections?" Alorra called out. She was hoping the Altmer woman wouldn't call her bluff.

There was a long silence, then the door opened just wide enough to let them through.

"Get in quickly," Niranye hissed. She closed the door behind them, then swiftly drew her dagger and went on the defensive. "I don't know who you two are, and I probably won't win this fight, but I can assure you I won't go down easily!"

Argis growled and drew the greatsword, but Alorra put up her hands in a calming gesture.

"We're not here to fight you," she said quietly. "And I don't like threatening you, but I'm desperate to find out what happened to our friend Petra. I think she may have come to you earlier today. Please, tell me if I'm wrong."

Niranye studied both of them for a long moment before finally relaxing and sheathing her dagger. Argis put the greatsword away, but remained alert.

"Alright, fine," the High Elf capitulated. "Your little friend _did_ come to see me this morning. We did some business, but that's all. We came to an agreement and some money changed hands—quite a lot of money, actually, but it could have been more if she'd been willing to part with a few pieces."

"You're sure she left here unharmed?" Argis rumbled.

"I swear it by Nocturnal," Niranye said fervently. "When she left here she was in one piece. That's quite the little haggler you've got there, you know," she added, impressed. "Took me down almost to my last septim. The only reason I let her get away with it was the profit I'm going to make from selling the things I _did_ get from her."

"Do you know where she went when she left here?" Alorra asked.

Niranye shook her head. "I didn't watch her leave," she replied. "We're thieves, after all, though how you figured out _I_ had any connection to the Guild is quite beyond my capacity to understand."

"I have inside information," Alorra shrugged, diffidently.

"So where do we look now?" Argis asked.

"Your friend was carrying quite a lot of gold," Niranye said. "I don't wish to alarm you, but she may have been targeted. While it's not common knowledge around here, there are those who sometimes take note of the services I provide, and of the people who come and go."

"You think Petra may have been mugged?" Alorra cried, seriously alarmed now.

"I think it's a possibility you can't ignore," the High Elf said impassively. "The Snow Quarter is better now than it was years ago, but it's still not completely safe."

"We need to go, now," Alorra said urgently. "Thank you for the information, Niranye," she said. "If I have need of your—_services_—again, I'll be sure to look you up."

"Come to the back door, next time, if you do," the Altmer told her. "I'll let you out that way; fewer prying eyes around."

Once back on the street, Argis asked, worried, "How are we going to find her?"

Alorra didn't answer. She built up the energy within her and released it with a whispered, _"Seek!"_

Argis gave a satisfied, "Aha!" as the purple-white mist roiled away from them down the street. They followed the trail through the back-alleys and narrow passageways between the ancient buildings of Windhelm until they came to the open square in front of the Palace of the Kings.

"I don't think I like where this is leading," Argis muttered as they entered.

Alorra felt her heart sink once more. "I'm sure I don't," she said, watching as her trail spun and whirled towards the door leading to the Barracks.


	13. Chapter 12

Deum Occidere

Chapter 12

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

Petra huddled on the bunk in her cell. One might have called her a model prisoner. She remained quiet after capture, watching everything. She noted the chest in which her belongings had been thrown. Just like the last time she'd been caught, the female guard stripped her of her outer armor and gave her a ragged tunic to cover her from the gawks and leers of the male guards.

"Bunch of animals, the lot of them," the woman muttered. "You'd think they'd never seen a woman before!"

Petra kept silent. Saying anything would have been useless. Besides, the special, half-sized lockpick she'd made, which was currently hidden under her tongue, would have made talking difficult.

There were at least two other picks tucked into the seam of her smallclothes, and in true, oblivious guard fashion, the woman never noticed them as she searched Petra.

For the rest of the day, Petra sat quietly in the shadows of her bunk, observing the routine of the guards, when they patrolled past, what path they followed and when food was served. Her eyes took in every detail of her small cell, the simple bunk, bolted to the wall, the bucket for waste, the way the iron bars of the door fitted into the stone, the roughness of the stone itself. The ceiling was only seven feet above her head, and made of stone as well. There was an iron grate fitted in the center, which was only about a foot square in area. Not large enough to allow her to squeeze through, she knew, but set firmly enough for her to hang from.

Petra bided her time until well into the evening. The number of guards on duty during the evening was generally less than during the day, she knew from past experience. She could have picked the lock open, and was prepared to do so if this plan of hers didn't work out, but it would raise an alarm she didn't want raised. Far better if she could just slip out in plain sight.

She waited and watched until the evening meal of bread, cheese and mead was being passed out, then made her preparations.

The female guard handing out food was not the one from earlier in the day. This one was smaller, thinner and didn't appear to have been a guard for very long, as she flinched every time one of the prisoners rushed their cell doors. She threw the bread and cheese through the bars and move on quickly to the next cell. Until she came to Petra's. It was empty.

The guard looked around. She knew all these cells were filled, and she had food for this prisoner. They'd fed her earlier this morning, and again at midday, or so the commanding officer had told her. But there was no one in the cell. She approached the bars, peering in. The limited view from her helmet showed her nothing.

Unwilling to question authority, which had ordered her to feed _all_ the prisoners, the young woman decided to open the cell and put the food inside. Maybe the prisoner had been moved, and no one had told her, but if she returned to the kitchen with the food, she'd catch Oblivion for it. Besides, the prisoner might be on the bunk. She couldn't tell from here.

As she entered the cell, she took off her helmet for a better look. There was a lump on the bunk under the blanket. Asleep. The young guard breathed a sigh of relief. The prisoner was only asleep. She'd leave the food and—

-_WHUMP! _Something hit her from behind as Petra swung her legs down where she'd braced them above the door, holding onto the grating in the center of the tiny cell's ceiling. The guard sprawled undignified against the wall, unconscious. Quickly, silently, Petra stripped her of her uniform and put it on, then hauled the woman over to the bunk.

She threw back the covers and removed the bucket and the pile of straw, dragging the guard onto it. She threw the ragged tunic over the woman and placed the blanket over her, covering her head completely. Her legs were still exposed, but that didn't matter.

Dressed now as one of Windhelm's finest, Petra strode confidently out of the cell, locking it behind her. The guard had been small, but even so she was taller than Petra, who tugged the breeches up a little higher to keep them from sagging around her knees. She hoped no one would notice. She hated the helmet, which restricted her view, but it also hid her features, and that was far more important.

She left the containment area after recovering her gear from the chest, putting everything into a large burlap sack, and went up the stairs into the main barracks. Most of the guards at this time were in the mess hall, or sleeping on their bunks. Petra hesitated for the barest of moments, gathering her courage before striding across the hall, hoping no one would stop her or question why she was hauling a canvas sack on her back. The door at the far end opened, and Petra nearly choked with relief as she saw Alorra and Argis enter, appearing to be intent about something; looking for her, she knew, but there were too many guards. This was not a safe place to reveal herself. She'd have to find somewhere she could hide and catch up to them later. To better cover her tracks, she dropped her voice to a lower pitch and thickened it with more of the broad, Nordic accent she'd lost over her years of traveling around Tamriel.

"Visiting hours are almost over," she told them. "Make it quick."

She caught a quick glimpse of the Big Guy giving her a curious look as they approached. It broke her heart to have to walk on by, but she set her jaw and said nothing more, only nodding to them as they passed. Petra continued on her way out of the barracks, up the stairs and through the Jarl's palace, heading out into the streets of Windhelm.

Maybe she'd be able to find a place where she could watch them leaving the Palace of the Kings so she could follow at a safe distance. But the longer she stayed in the armor, the greater the risk that a superior officer would come along and order her back to the barracks. No. She needed to ditch the uniform and get back into her familiar leathers with the enchantment perks built into them. And she needed to find a place to hide; some place empty, that no one went into. She thought she knew just the spot.

"I don't understand it, Argis," Alorra whispered as they back-tracked their trail. "Petra _was_ here, but she's gone, and the trail leads back out again."

"She's gone to ground somewhere nearby," Argis said. "That unconscious guard in her cell isn't going to sit well with the Jarl."

"At least she didn't hurt the poor woman, other than knocking her over the head," Alorra said. "But she walked right out wearing the armor. She could be any of the female guards in Windhelm right now."

"Something tells me the Pipsqueak isn't going to stay in that armor long," Argis pointed out. "She's going to try and find a place she can hide. Maybe we should talk to that Altmer woman again."

"Niranye?" Alorra asked. "I don't think even Petra would be foolish enough to implicate someone who helped her out earlier. You heard the woman; they conducted business, then Petra left."

"Well we're not going to find her by stomping all over Windhelm, lifting the helmets of every female guard we see," the big Nord grumbled. "We should head back to that house the Jarl gave us and get some sleep. We'll search again in the morning."

"How can I sleep with her out there somewhere, alone and afraid?" Alorra worried, but she allowed Argis to guide their steps back to Hjerim.

"Hey," he said gently, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "The Pipsqueak isn't as naïve and innocent as you'd like her to be. She's a tough girl, been out on her own for a while before we met her. She can take care of herself." He looked her sternly in the eyes – though beautiful, deep green eyes that he would love to lose himself in. "You can't be Little Mother to everyone," he finished.

Alorra opened her mouth to protest. That was not who she was trying to be, she just felt responsible for the girl. But she closed her mouth again as she acknowledged there was some truth in Argis' words. As they walked through the darkened streets, she admitted to herself that because her soul was older, she probably had been too much of what might have been called a "helicopter parent" in the life she'd left behind. And Petra did remind her in many ways of loved ones she'd never see again.

"We know she's not in the jail, now," Argis continued, "so that's something of a relief."

"She _was_ in the jail, though," Alorra pointed out. "My Clairvoyance spell led us there, then led us straight back out again."

Argis had a feeling they'd been closer to Petra than Bright Eyes realized, but he said nothing. She was already too distraught. He understood perfectly why Petra wouldn't have called out to them, if that _had_ been her passing them in the barracks. He didn't think Alorra would understand, though. For all her uncanny knowledge about some things, she was still fairly naïve and trusting. Good thing she had him at her back.

They made their way through the bleak, windswept city to the home Alorra remembered from the game as being the location of several brutal murders.

It was a creepy thought, setting up housekeeping in a place with such a notorious history, but when it came down to it, Hjerim was actually a very nice place, roomy and well-situation on a cul-de-sac. Jarl Solveig had told her the place had been inhabited for the last seventy years or so by the descendants of Calder, the Dragonborn's Windhelm Housecarl, but that the line had died out and for the last year or two the place had been empty.

Argis turned the key in the lock and opened the door. Inside it was damp and chilly, and the large main room was littered with the detritus of abandonment. Looking at the real thing, she could easily believe that murders had been committed here, and she shivered in spite of herself.

Dust and cobwebs were layered everywhere. Some larger pieces of furniture remained – a long dining table, some chairs and wardrobes – but nothing personal. Even the wall hangings were missing, the animal-head trophies gone from the walls. Nothing remained on the bookshelves surrounding the room. Alorra idly opened one cupboard to find it bare.

"Rustic," Argis snorted. "I'd better get a fire going. It'll help take away some of the dampness here."

"Good," Alorra approved. "I'll see if anything's been left behind in the rest of the house."

"If this room is any indication," Argis drawled, "it'll be a short search."

He set their gear down by the door and took out flint and steel from his belt pouch. While he busied himself with that, Alorra poked into the corners of the first floor. The kitchen area had cupboards and a table with chairs, but there was no food, and it was too late to buy any. Only a few pots and pans remained, but it might be enough for them to stew up some of the dried meats they had.

The main room still had its furnishings, for the most part, though anything of value was long gone. There were no rugs on the floor, no decorations hanging on the walls, nothing sitting on the shelves. The back room had been set up as a children's room, and the "secret" room behind the wardrobe still had its alchemy lab and enchanter's table, though there were no supplies left behind.

Alorra emerged from the mage's room to head upstairs, shivering in the gloom. She fired off a Candlelight spell to see by as she made her way up the wide, wooden steps. A draft of cold wind caught her at the top and she shivered again. In this light, and in this state of disrepair, it was easy to see how this was once the scene of several brutal murders – at least, it had been in the game, and she had no reason to doubt that it had actually happened here in this reality.

One window was partially open above a glass display case, and she crossed the armory room to grab the casement and pull it closed. Much better. Turning, she saw in the flickering candlelight two sets of footprints leading down the corridor and disappearing into the darkness of the Housecarl's room.

_We have an intruder!_ she thought_. Make that two intruders. And I've just closed them in with us!_

Calling out to Argis would only alert the unknown persons. They could jump out of hiding and attack her before he could get up the stairs. Returning to the hall below was also not an option it would give their unwanted guests a chance to escape.

Well, if it was a fight they wanted, it was a fight they'd get. She wasn't unprepared, after all. She might not have Shouts, like the Dragonborn, but she had magic.

Alorra approached the doorway of the master bedroom, acting as casual and clueless as she could, but summoning the magical energy within her.

Suddenly, there was a rush of footsteps and shadowy movement behind her as two figures attempted to flee.

Going back downstairs would give the intruder time to escape, and she didn't want to do that. There was no hope for it. She made a gesture with one hand and created a _Stoneflesh_ around herself, bringing a _Lightning Bolt _online with the other.

"_Run, lass!"_ called a male voice, in a brogue she might at one time have called "Irish".

She whirled and fired off a Lightning Bolt, just as she heard a familiar female voice cry out, _"No, Boss Lady! He's a friend!"_

It was too late. The bolt hit the man square in the chest and he went down to one knee, quivering in shock.

"Petra?" Alorra gasped. The little blonde thief came into her Candlelight's glow just as Argis thundered up the stairs.

"Pipsqueak?" he exclaimed in surprise and delight at seeing her. He scooped her up into a bear hug and set her down. Then scowled at the man crouched in front of Alorra. "Who's this? A thief?"

Petra was kneeling next to the man on the floor, who was wearing the same kind of leather armor as her usual. Thieves' armor, Alorra knew.

Petra gave an exasperated sigh. "Of course he's a thief!" she snapped. "So am I, if you remember!"

"Friend of yours, I take it?" Alorra asked her. When Petra nodded, Alorra relented. "Okay, just a moment here." She channeled her magical energy into a healing spell and aimed at the man still rigid on the floor. He visibly relaxed and groaned.

"Ow, that smarts," the man muttered. "Your Boss Lady packs a wallop, lass."

"Sorry, Brynwulf," Petra said. "I had no idea they'd be here. These are the people I told you about, that I was looking for. Are you alright?"

"Aye, Lass, I think so," he muttered, shaking his head. "Though my ears are still ringin'. Is that your 'Boss Lady'? She packs quite a wallop!"

"You caught me on an off day," Alorra said, amused, standing down. Taking his cue from her, Argis relaxed his guard as well, though not as much. Just before her Candlelight spell winked out, Alorra caught sight of a ruggedly handsome man in his late twenties, with a mane of dark red hair and scruffy beard of the same color, wearing black leathers similar to Petra's. Alorra had a feeling she knew who Brynwulf's ancestor must have been, though how the man had found time to father children, much less become a grandfather – or would it be great-grandfather at this point in time? – was simply beyond her.

Brynwulf got to his feet and dusted himself off, the light from the lantern glinting off his fiery red hair. He slipped his hood back over his head and crooked a grin at Alorra.

"Well, you're not bad to look at either, Lass," he said cockily.

"You flatter me," Alorra said, still smiling. "But let's head downstairs. Argis has got a fire going. It will be warmer and brighter down there, and we can talk. I'd like to hear what happened to you, Petra, and how you ended up here with this man."

"I'd like to know what you're doin' here, too, Lass," Brynwulf commented. "Last I heard, this place was abandoned."

"I did the Jarl a favor this morning," Alorra said dismissively as they descended the stairs.

"Ah, that explains it, then," Brynwulf said, nodding in comprehension. "As we all know, favors translate into rewards. Must have been some favor, then."

"Perhaps," Alorra said evasively. Charming as Brynwulf obviously was, she had no intention of revealing any secrets until she knew him better. And she needed to find out just how much Petra had already told him. That he was Guild-brother to the little blonde thief she had no doubt, but that didn't mean she wanted him to know their mission and their business.

Alorra and Petra prepared a cold meal of bread, cheese and apples, to be washed down with ale for the men and Petra, and water for her. Argis prowled the upstairs area making sure no one else had slipped in. He lit a fire in the hearth of the main bedroom and lit candles that still remained in their sconces before returning downstairs.

The group quickly ate their meal in strained silence, and then Alorra turned to Petra.

"Okay, little one, out with it. What happened? You were supposed to sell off the things we'd picked up that we didn't need."

"And I did," Petra explained. "I sold off everything, except a few items I thought we'd keep, and I even have the gold it brought." She handed over a hefty coin purse from the pouch at her belt, ignoring a gasp of dismay from Brynwulf. "I was down to mostly jewelry, and went to see someone about… liquidating everything that was left."

"You saw Niranye, I know," Alorra said. "She said you left her place earlier this morning."

"Oh, you've been to see her, then," Petra flushed. "I'm not gonna ask how you knew—"

"No, don't," Alorra interrupted, throwing a glance at the red-haired thief who was hanging on every word. "What happened then?"

"Yes, lass, tell us," Brynwulf interjected. "As your superior, I'd like to know, too. Ye haven't even told me yet!"

Petra shrank down in her seat and looked extremely unhappy. As well she might, with Brynwulf sitting right there.

"I—I got caught," she admitted, unable to meet their eyes.

Brynwulf scowled. "I taught you better than that, lass," he reproved.

"I know, I know!" the girl said unhappily. "When the guard accosted me, I realized he must have seen me leaving the scene of that heist I did here several months ago – before I met you two," she added, for Alorra's and Argis' benefit. "I thought I could bluff my way out of it, but that didn't work. So then I thought I could buy him off, but he wasn't on the take."

"Windhelm guards are a little different, Lass," Brynwulf interjected gently. "They're not like Riften guards. The ones here actually have morals."

Petra nodded unhappily. "I found that out. He said he was going to confiscate anything I had that was stolen—"

"Oh, Petra!" Alorra exclaimed, disappointed. "You haven't—"

"NO!" cried the younger girl, close to tears. It was the most emotional Alorra had ever seen Petra get. "Not since I joined you and the Big Guy, I swear it! But I remembered I had something on me we'd found that was, well… not exactly legal."

"Skooma?" Argis asked, not sure what else could have made the little thief panic as she had.

"No," she replied meekly. "This." She drew a pendant out of her pocket.

Brynwulf scowled. "Lass, I've told you before, we don't deal in contraband—_Shor's balls!"_ he exploded, looking at the Amulet of Talos in Petra's hand. "Where did you get _that_?"

"It was in a chest we found in Morvunskar," she answered. "I meant to give it to the Big Guy, you know, as a gift. If he wanted it, that is. I thought he could keep it hidden and safe, and—"

"That's not the kind of gift you give out to people!" Brynwulf choked.

Argis took the Amulet from Petra and closed his big fist around her small hand. "Thanks, Pipsqueak," he said quietly, in a voice too full of emotion to trust saying much more. "I'll keep it safe." He slipped it over his head and tucked it inside his armor, out of sight.

Brynwulf stared at the big Nord for a long moment, shaking his head. "It's your funeral, lad," he said finally.

Alorra pondered the ramifications soberly. Getting caught with an amulet to a forbidden faith would have been enough to lock Petra up for life, and if the Thalmor caught wind of it, the little blonde thief would have been beheaded for sure.

Quickly changing the subject, she turned back to Petra. "Where did you go then, after you escaped the jail? We saw your handiwork, by the way," she continued severely. "Please try to refrain from knocking guards out in the future, will you?"

Chastened, Petra gulped and nodded again. "I needed to find a place where I could lay low, and I remembered there were a couple abandoned houses here in Windhelm. I was on my way to one when I saw Brynwulf. It took a little persuasion to convince him the guard stopping him on the street was actually a Guild-sister."

Brynwulf chuckled. "I kept thinkin' to myself, 'This has to be a set-up. They're going to arrest me for _somethin'_, I just know it!'"

"Guilty conscience?" Argis asked sarcastically.

"Not at all, Laddie," Brynwulf said easily. "But in my line of work, a healthy dose of paranoia can be a life-saver."

"Bryn told me he'd take me to his safe-house and led me here," Petra said hastily. "I didn't know you two would be showing up!"

"This is your safe-house?" Alorra asked, dismayed.

"Well, it _was_, Lass," Brynwulf said ruefully. "Up until the moment I heard a key rattlin' in the lock and voices carryin' on down here. I told Petra we needed to leave in a hurry, but by the time we'd gathered up our things, you were comin' up the stairs."

"I was never so glad to see anyone in my life, Boss Lady!" Petra grinned. "I'm just glad you didn't hurt Bryn."

"She _did_ hurt me, Lass!" Brynwulf protested. "That lightning spell of hers was no mere tickle!"

"I'm not sorry for attempting to protect myself," Alorra smiled, amused. He was so much like his forebear, Brynjolf, that she couldn't help but chuckle inwardly. "But I do apologize for hurting you, now that I know you're a friend of Petra's."

"Aye, it's all good," Brynwulf said, waving his hand dismissively. "But I'll be movin' on, soon. If you're the new owner of Hjerim, it's no longer a safe-house for me. I'll find someplace else."

"Sorry to kick you out into the snow," Argis rumbled, in a tone that clearly said he wasn't anything of the sort. "I mean, it's not like you were paying rent or anything."

Before the tension could escalate, Alorra broke in. "We're not kicking anyone out into the snow," she said firmly. "You're welcome to stay the night, Brynwulf." He started to protest – and so did Argis – but Alorra insisted. "At least stay that long. It's bitter cold out there, and I'm not going to kick you to the curb."

The red-haired thief looked across the table at the big blonde Nord, who was clearly not happy about the arrangement.

"I'd be happy to accept your hospitality, then, lass," he said cheerily, his grin deepening as Argis' frown threatened to become a permanent fixture on his face. The frown became an all-out scowl as Brynwulf called Alorra "lass".

"Good," smiled Alorra. "I'm glad we got that settled. Now if you gentlemen don't mind, I'd like to have a word in private with the feminine side of this little group."

"Who, me?" Petra squeaked, worry etched on her face again.

"You don't think she's talkin' about us, do ya, lass?" Brynwulf grinned. Argis growled, but said nothing.

Petra followed Alorra into the enchanting room, waiting for her Boss Lady to close the door behind them.

"Alright, Petra," Alorra said firmly. "Out with it. Just how much does Brynwulf know about us and our mission? What have you told him?"

"Nothing!" Petra insisted. "Not a damn thing, I swear it!"

"And he just _happened_ to be here in Windhelm, and just _decided_ to help you out?"

"He's my Guild-brother," Petra said staunchly. "_And_ my Guild Master! Of course he'd help me, and of course I trust him! He won't betray us!"

"I wish I could be as certain, dear," Alorra said, worried. "It just all seems a little too – _convenient_ to me."

"What do you mean?"

The older girl frowned. "It could be he's been sent by the Enemy to gain our trust. If he ends up traveling with us, he could learn what we know so far. The Enemy could use that to their advantage to stop us."

"Bryn wouldn't work for the Enemy," Petra said stubbornly. "He's not evil, just…mercenary."

"Not knowingly," Alorra agreed. Petra's remark about Brynwulf's position within the Guild confirmed her earlier suspicions about his heritage. "But the Enemy doesn't always present themselves as Evil." She quickly recounted to Petra her meeting with Jarl Solveig, and how the Jarl had unwitting aided the Enemy by helping to eliminate the position of Court Mage across Skyrim.

Petra considered this soberly. Finally she raised her eyes to meet Alorra's. "I still don't believe Bryn would do something like that," she said firmly. "He's a thief, yes. He's in it for the coin, for the thrill, the challenge, yes. But he would never betray a fellow Guildmember."

"Mercer Frey did," Alorra pointed out. Petra remained unhappily silent. Clearly, she knew the Guild's history, and had heard of Mercer Frey. She didn't even question how Alorra could have known.

"But you acted like you liked him," Petra argued. "You even invited him to stay here tonight. Why do that if you don't trust him?"

Alorra sighed. "Sweetie, there's an old saying where I came from: 'keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.' If Brynwulf is here, under our watchful eye, then I don't think he'll try anything, especially not with Argis watching him."

Petra frowned. "The Big Guy doesn't like Bryn, does he?"

"I don't think it's a matter of liking Brynwulf. He's a very charming guy, and I like him just fine. I can't speak for Argis. But I think at this point it would be very unwise for either of us to trust him until we get to know him better."

"But what if he wasn't sent by the Enemy," Petra offered. "You said yourself that _your_ Boss has interfered a few times, and made things easier for you by letting you do things you didn't know you could do, like freeing the souls from those gems we found. Maybe Brynwulf is another way your Boss is helping us."

Alorra considered this. Petra could be right. "I'll keep an open mind about him for now," she said finally. "I'm willing to accept the fact that _you _trust Brynwulf. But I still think we shouldn't take him completely into our confidences yet. He's only here for tonight. He'll be on his way again tomorrow, unless he makes an offer to join us. If that happens, it will be time to make some decisions."

Petra turned this over in her mind. She'd known Brynwulf a long time, and knew he could be trusted. She hoped the Boss Lady and the Big Guy would come to realize this as well.

In the main hall the two men sat on opposite sides of the long dining table, waiting for the women to return. It was Brynwulf who broke the silence.

"So, how did a mercenary like you end up in the company of such a beautiful young woman?" he asked conversationally.

"None of your damned business," Argis growled.

"Oh, touchy on the subject, are we, Lad?"

"And quit calling me that. I'm not your 'lad.'"

"Sorry," Brynwulf shrugged, equably. "It's a habit I have. Everyone's either a 'lad' or a 'lass' to me. There's no harm in it."

Argis glared at him. "It implies a friendship that isn't there," was all he said.

"I see," Brynwulf grinned, unoffended. "And you want it clearly known I'm no friend of yours." He shrugged again. "I can accept that." He was silent for a moment or two, then spoke again. "I wonder how long that glorious red hair of hers is."

Argis slammed a fist down on the table, making the few tankards sitting on it clink and rattle alarmingly. "You stay away from her!" he rumbled dangerously. "She's not for the likes of you!"

"Take it easy, La—er, Argis," Brynwulf chuckled. "I meant no harm by it. I was just wonderin', that's all. You don't have to bite my head off."

Argis wanted nothing more at that moment than to do just that, or at least, to wipe the smirk off the red-haired Nord's face.

"Look," Argis rumbled dangerously. "I don't like you, or your kind."

"You don't like my kind," Bryn said thoughtfully. "Yet you like Petra. What did ye call her? 'Pipsqueak'? I like that. It suits her."

"And stay away from her, too!" Argis warned. "You're far too old for her."

Bryn chuckled, unoffended. "Just how old d'ye think I am, la—er, Argis?" he said. "Old enough to be her father, perhaps? Maybe…if I'd fathered a child when I was eight." He smirked again. "Prodigious I may be, but I can assure you not that way!"

Round one went to the red-haired thief.

"You're nothing but a bunch of riff-raff," Argis threw out, "taking other people's hard-earned money with your scams, breaking into their homes and stealing their life's savings."

"But hirin' out your sword arm to do another's dirty work for them is perfectly acceptable," Brynwulf said, still smirking.

"At least I'm not taking anything I haven't earned," the blonde Nord retorted.

The red-haired thief seemed to consider his next words carefully. "Tell me, Argis, when ye've killed a man in battle, do ye loot the body?"

Argis shifted uncomfortably. "Sometimes. But that's different. Those are the spoils earned from an honorable combat."

"Shouldn't that money go to the family of the man ye've slain?"

"Don't try to turn this around on me," the big Nord rumbled dangerously. "You can't compare spoils taken in fair combat with what you do, stealing from honest, hard-working people."

"And what if they're dishonest?" Brynwulf asked intensely. "What if they're corrupt and wicked, squeezin' every last septim out of decent folk who can ill afford it?"

Argis snorted in derision. "Oh, and I suppose you take from those who have and give it those who haven't?"

Brynwulf's eyes glittered. "Who says I don't?" he asked quietly. And with that, the red-haired thief of Riften took firm possession of Round Two.


	14. Chapter 13

Deum Occidere

Chapter 13

_(Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Skyrim or any of the characters created by Bethesda. Original characters have been created by me, but may be based in part on characters created by Bethesda. My thanks to them for creating such a wonderful world to play in.)_

Alorra and Petra returned to the two men in the main hall of Hjerim, and Alorra noticed immediately the tension between the two of them. She was curious to know what had transpired while she'd had her talk with Petra, but Argis' words earlier, telling her she couldn't be "little mother" to everyone, still stung a bit, so she said nothing. So it was that by mutual consent everyone retired early for the night, Alorra and Petra taking the great double-bed in the master chamber, and Argis claiming the bed in the Housecarl quarters, leaving Brynwulf to stretch out on one of the beds in the "children's room". Fortunately for the tall, red-haired Nord, the children's beds had been replaced at some point with full-sized ones.

Alorra woke before Petra the following morning, and she quietly slipped out of the bed and dressed quickly, then crept downstairs. She peered into the children's room, but it was empty. Brynwulf had already left. She felt a bit let down, but was not surprised. It was clear that Argis and Bryn had exchanged words last night.

Speaking of the big Nord, he was already up and stoking the fire in the fireplace. He smiled when he saw her. "Breakfast will be ready shortly," he said.

"Breakfast?" Alorra asked, puzzled. "What breakfast? We didn't have anything left after supper last night."

"I've already been to the market," he explained. "I wasn't sure how long we're staying here, but I bought food for a couple of days, at least."

"Where's Brynwulf?" she asked. Argis scowled, his good humor evaporating.

"Moved his things out this morning," was the short answer.

"To where?"

Argis shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care."

Alorra compressed her lips and kept a tight rein on her temper. "Did he say if he was coming back?" she asked, tersely. The last thing they needed was someone who knew enough about them and their mission to blab if caught and tortured by minions of the Enemy.

At this Argis blew out a heavy sigh. "Yes, he said he'd probably be back in a couple hours." He stopped stirring the pot he was hovering over and turned to face Alorra.

"I don't like him, Bright Eyes," he stated, baldly.

"I gathered that," she returned drily. "Any other objections, other than that he's a thief?"

"Isn't that enough?" Argis countered.

"Petra's a thief, too," she observed. She saw the conflict in Argis' eyes and had a feeling this had already been pointed out to him.

"She hasn't tried to steal anything off of us," he said, though she knew that was a weak argument. Bryn hadn't stolen anything from them, either. "She volunteered to help us." And again, Alorra knew it was a specious statement, since Brynwulf had already helped them reunite with Petra, even if it was an indirect way.

"Anything else?" she pressed.

Argis turned his back and mumbled something she didn't quite catch. "—donlikelooksyou…"

"What was that?"

Argis slammed the stirring stick back down into the pot and crossed the room to her, grabbing her gently by the arms. "I said I don't like the way he looks at you!" he stormed. "You're far too good for him, and I don't want him getting ideas!"

Several things crossed Alorra's mind at this point. First, was that Argis was clearly upset by the thought of Brynwulf showing any interest in her. Second was that he clearly thought he had a say in who she could be interested in. And while that thought might have made her angry, had it been anyone else but Argis, all she could think of was, _He's jealous! He's jealous of Brynwulf over ME!_

Most women would have wallowed in the triumph of a conquest, but Alorra had never been that type. She hated mind games, and refused to be anything other than truthful with people she cared about. She could have strung Argis along for days, maybe even weeks, driving him crazy wondering if she felt anything for him. But that sort of thing would only hinder their mission, and duplicity of any sort was an anathema to her. Besides, Petra's words of the day before kept echoing in her mind. Falling for Argis might be a distraction, but love was the greatest weapon against the Enemy in their arsenal.

"Argis," she began, smiling up at him, "are you saying you're interested in me?"

Wonder crept into his gaze, and his frown faded into a smile. "More than interested, Bright Eyes," he said gently. "And why wouldn't I be? You're an amazing woman."

"I think you're pretty amazing yourself," she replied softly, reaching up to caress his face. "What now? Do I need to get an Amulet of Mara or something?"

Argis grinned and drew her closer. "Nope," was all he said before his lips claimed hers.

They never heard Brynwulf slip inside, nor saw the grin he shared with Petra, who'd come creeping down the stairs.

At length, however, Petra finally cleared her throat – loudly – and spoke.

"I don't want to end your little snog-fest, Boss Lady, but something's burning in the pot."

"Crap," Argis muttered, as he released Alorra and went to tend breakfast before it was completely ruined.

Alorra caught Brynwulf grinning at her, and saw the twinkle in Petra's eyes and decided to go with it.

"He's a fabulous kisser," she laughed, and went over to put her arm around Argis' waist. He said nothing but she could see him quirk a grin at her as his free arm draped across her shoulders and hugged her closer.

Brynwulf chuckled and said drily. "I think I'll just take your word for that, lass."

After breakfast had been cleared away, Alorra called everyone together.

"It's time to make a few decisions," she said. "I have several questions that need to be answered, and I think Brynwulf may be able to help with that."

Brynwulf narrowed his eyes. "Ah, it's information you're wantin' then," he said, cunningly. "That sort of thing doesn't come cheap, lass."

Argis scowled again, but this time it was due to Bryn's avaricious nature, rather than his calling Alorra "lass".

Alorra, for her part, merely smiled. "I'm well aware of that, Brynwulf," she said. "I'm also aware that the Thieves' Guild never does anything without expecting some kind of remuneration in return. But ask yourself this: could you operate successfully in a world of complete and total evil? Could you get around from place to place if the lands were consumed in fire? Would there be anyone to pickpocket if all the people were killed so their souls could feed a demon-god bent on death and destruction? Would you be able to get yourself free from shackles that have no locks to pick, which bind you to eternal torment? Let me show you what that world would be like."

She summoned the energy within her and made a small gesture. A warping sound was heard, and several images appeared in the thin air between them. Nightmarish scenes of hell revealed dismemberments, cannibalism, torture and death. Souls screamed in agony as they were eternally burned, disemboweled, and torn to pieces, gnawed on by hideous creatures that came straight out of Oblivion.

Petra gasped and went pale. Argis remained stoically silent, but the look of despair on his face spoke volumes. After a minute or so, Petra got up and left the table to retreat upstairs.

Brynwulf tried to remain nonchalant throughout the entire ordeal, but even he began to look sick, eventually whispering, "Enough, lass. I've seen enough."

Alorra dispelled the illusion. "This is what we're up against, Brynwulf," she said quietly. "This is what we are trying to stop from happening."

"How do I know that's all true?" he brooded. "How do I know you're not just showing me something to make me change my mind?"

"It's all true because it happened," Alorra said unhappily. "I couldn't stop it last time." She went quiet, and Brynwulf peered at her.

"You're goin' t' have t' explain that one, lass," he said.

Alorra sighed. "Let me get Petra first. She should hear this, too."

It took some soothing and convincing, but eventually Petra returned downstairs with Alorra and they settled themselves back at the table.

"I'll give you the condensed version, Brynwulf," Alorra began, and launched into a synopsis of who she was, where she'd come from, and what her mission was. She explained how her first effort at being an Agent for her Superior had ended in cataclysmic failure, the world lost to the Enemy. It had been many lifetimes, centuries of reeducation, before she was given a second chance – _this _second chance. When she finished, Brynwulf just stared at her. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Brynwulf broke the silence.

"You'd have me believe you came from another world?" he asked skeptically. "That you're some kind of agent of the gods? That all of this—" he waved his arms widely to take in everything in general – "was some kind of _game?"_

"I know it's a lot to take in on faith, Brynwulf," Alorra began, but he cut her off.

"You're damned right it is, lass!" he bit out angrily. "That's got t' be th' biggest cock an' bull story I've ever heard!"

"Bryn, it's true!" Petra whispered, still shaken. "I've been with them for several days now. They rescued me from these guys. I saw what they were trying to do, even if I didn't understand it at the time!"

"And they've got you brain-washed, too, it seems!" he snorted back at her. "If ye have any smarts left, lass, ye'll get yerself back t' Riften an' be done with th' lot o' them!" His brogue became thicker the more emotional he became.

"She's telling the truth, thief," Argis rumbled. "Alorra doesn't lie."

"_Everyone_ lies, laddie," Bryn sneered. "I thought you'd be worldly enough t' know that much!"

"Alorra doesn't," he insisted, not even rising to Brynwulf's bait. "But if money is your only religion, name your price for the information we want, and you'll get it." He didn't even try to hide the disgust in his voice.

"My price depends on the value of the information you want," Bryn said smugly, comfortable once more, now that he was back on terms he understood. "What is it you want to know?"

Alorra put her hand on Argis' arm and looked Brynwulf directly into his clear green eyes.

"How's Nocturnal doing these days?" she asked.

Brynwulf opened his mouth to deny knowing anyone by that name, but it stuck in his throat. How could this madwoman know _anything_ about the Mistress of Shadows?

"I don't know what you're talking about," he finally managed to say, as neutrally as he could.

"And here I thought all thieves were good liars," Alorra smiled pleasantly. "If you're not a Nightingale yourself, then you certainly know about them. How's your luck been these days?"

Brynwulf narrowed his eyes. Clearly there was more to her than he had at first believed. But to acknowledge she was some sort of avatar to the Aedra? Nonsense!

"My luck has been just fine—" he started to say, at the same time Petra said, "Not good." Bryn glared at her, but she drew herself up and stared defiantly back at him.

Alorra looked between the two of them. "Well?" she asked.

For a long moment, Bryn just glowered at her. Finally he relented. "Alright," he admitted grudgingly. "It hasn't been the best. Not for a while now."

"How long?" she pressed.

"I don't know," Bryn said, exasperated. "A year. Two years, maybe? But everyone has a run of bad luck now and then."

"Nightingales don't," was all Alorra said.

"What's a Nightingale?" Argis and Petra asked together. Bryn scowled at Alorra, but she met his gaze steadily.

"Will you tell them, or shall I?" she asked calmly.

Caving in at last, Brynwulf waved to her to go ahead. "Since you seem to know so much," he muttered.

Alorra turned to the other two people at the table. "The Nightingales are – or maybe _were_ – an elite group within the Thieves' Guild."

"We still are!" Bryn put in. "Even if there are only two of us now."

"They're the servants of the Daedric Prince Nocturnal, who's sometimes known as 'Lady Luck'," Alorra continued. "She's the one who influences the skills all thieves learn – hiding in shadows, sneaking, picking locks and pockets, that kind of thing."

"Back about a hundred years ago," Bryn picked up where she left off, "we lost our luck. One of the Nightingales betrayed Nocturnal, betrayed the Guild, and our luck vanished."

"Mercer Frey!" Petra exclaimed. "I heard about that!"

"How did you get your luck back then?" Argis asked, curious despite himself.

"We had..er..help, from an outside source," Bryn admitted.

"The Dragonborn?" Alorra couldn't help asking, though she knew the answer.

"Alright, yes," Bryn said with a heavy sigh. "It was the Dragonborn who got recruited into our Guild, found out it was Mercer Frey that had betrayed us and turned Nocturnal against us. But that was a hundred years ago, and this situation is different."

"How is it different?" Alorra asked.

"Because unlike last time the Skeleton Key is right where it belongs," Bryn said quietly.

"Are you sure?" the red-haired girl inquired.

"Quite sure," Brynwulf insisted. "No one who's not a Nightingale can get to it."

"But you said there were only two of you," Alorra pointed out. "Shouldn't there be three Nightingales?"

Bryn looked saddened. "Aye," he admitted. "There should be. But we were left short-handed when Deirdre got killed last year in a heist gone bad. Karliah was devastated, and hasn't chosen anyone to replace her."

"Karliah?" Petra perked up. "_THE _Karliah from the tales? She's still around?"

"Aye, lass, she is," Bryn smiled. "She tends to keep to the Nightingale Hall, and doesn't come down to the Guild that often anymore."

"Would this Karliah person know why your luck's run dry?" Argis asked.

Alorra nodded. "A good question, Argis. Bryn?"

The red-haired thief brooded. "Maybe. I could ask her. As I said, she's been grieving since we lost Deirdre."

"I remember her," Petra said somberly. "It was a terrible blow to us all. She was one of the best. But why would Karliah still be in mourning for her?"

Bryn blinked at the little blonde thief. "I forgot you didn't know, lass. Deirdre was Karliah's daughter. Her father was my own ancestor, Brynjolf."

Petra pressed her hands to her mouth. "Oh my gods, Bryn!" she exclaimed around her fingers. "I had no idea! I'm so sorry! That means she was related to you, too, wasn't she?"

Brynwulf nodded. "Aye, in an indirect sort of way. Brynjolf enjoyed the company of many women, and Karliah was never my ancestor. I suppose you could say Deirdre and I were cousins, of a sort, but she always favored the Dunmer side of her heritage."

"Brynwulf," Alorra said gently. "I know you and the Guild set a great store by secrecy, but this is important. I need answers, and I think Karliah may know them. Do you think it would be possible to arrange a meeting between us?" She didn't feel it necessary to suggest the agents of the Enemy might already be attempting to capture Nocturnal, as they had some of the other Daedric Princes.

Brynwulf considered for several minutes, obviously weighing the value of the information over the need to find out why the Guild's luck had run out yet again. Finally he sighed.

"Alright, alright," he said. "I'll see if Karliah will talk with you."

"Wonderful!" Alorra said happily. "We can leave for Riften in the morning then. Let's rest up today. Petra, you'll have to stay out of sight."

"I know, I know," she grumbled. "I'll stay put here." The look of discontent on her face spoke volumes.

"If you'd like, Pipsqueak, I can take your armor over to the smithy and get it repaired," Argis offered.

"You'd do that for me?" she asked, perking up, her eyes shining.

"Sure thing. Find something else to wear and hand it over," he grinned.

"I'll be just a moment!" she chirped, and made a dash for the stairs.

"I think I'll go sharpen my blades," Brynwulf said. "If you don't mind, I'll go along with you."

Argis looked as though he wanted to say something scathing, but caught Alorra giving him a hard stare. He relented and shrugged. "Sure, why not?" was all he said, and was rewarded with a beaming smile from his Bright Eyes. "What are you going to do?" he asked her.

She grinned. "Alchemy and enchanting," she said smugly. "What else would I do?"

The four of them set off early the next morning, after Brynwulf retrieved his gear from its hiding place.

"That really wasn't necessary, you know," Alorra chided him. "You could have stayed with us."

Brynwulf paused the barest moment, throwing a glance toward Argis before replying. "I thought it best not, lass. No need to cause any undue stress."

Alorra followed the gaze and shot back, "You let me worry about any undue stress, Bryn. If you're going to help us, I'd like to know where you'll be."

"I still haven't said I will," he said cheekily, grinning at her. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, and ran to catch up to Argis who carried a heavy basket on his back.

"Good thing she doesn't weigh much," he grunted.

"I could have walked, you know," came a muffled response from inside the basket.

"Not a chance," Alorra hissed. "Not until we're well clear of Windhelm! And keep quiet, Petra!"

The guards at the gate barely gave them a second glance, merely waving them through. Outgoing traffic, it appeared, didn't raise as much suspicion as incoming. A large trade caravan of Khajiit was approaching the gate to negotiate entrance, and most of Windhelm's finest were occupied ensuring there was no contraband in their possession.

One guard, at the end of the long road, near the stables, did ask to look in their basket, and Alorra cheerfully flipped it open to show her a load full of vegetables, meats, and a few pies she'd baked the night before.

"Mmm.." said the guard. "Those look delicious!"

"Why don't you take one?" Alorra offered. "There's more than enough here for the three of us."

"Thank you, I will," said the guard. "I might even share it with the others." She inhaled the fresh, cinnamon-apple fragrance again. "Or maybe I won't!" She laughed, and Alorra, Argis and Brynwulf chuckled with her, waving as they went on their way.

"Color me impressed, lass," Brynwulf muttered. "That was pretty slick. I could make a decent thief out of you, given some time."

"I knew no one could resist an apple pie," Alorra said smugly.

"I'm just glad you didn't give them _all_ away," Argis grinned. "Where do you want to stop? The load may be lighter, but not by much."

"Hey now!" Petra muttered from inside the basket, hidden under the produce.

"I think a little further on, if it's not too much trouble," Alorra said quickly, glancing casually around, as if checking to make sure the roads were free of bandits. "Maybe just north of Kynesgrove, if you can hold up that long."

"I'll hold up," Argis grunted, shifting the basket.

"Oww!" Petra hissed. "Watch it! Those potatoes are _heavy!"_

They stopped a couple miles north of Kynesgrove and pulled off the road into a small hollow. Brynwulf scouted the road while Argis carefully lowered the basket, then Alorra and the big, sandy-haired Nord pulled out the food and let Petra out.

"Ohhhh…" she moaned. "My legs will never be able to crouch again!"

"Tight quarters?" Argis grinned.

"I feel like one of those twisted sweetbreads you can buy in Solitude," Petra complained. "You know, I could have worn a disguise. We didn't have to do it this way."

"I think we did," Alorra said, smirking. "The guards must have been told by now to watch out for a small blonde female thief. Any disguise you could wear still wouldn't hide your size or gender."

"Don't bet the farm on that," Petra groused, twisting and stretching to get the kinks out. "I fooled you both in the jail."

"You might have fooled Bright Eyes," Argis grinned, "but I had a pretty good idea it was you. You need to work on your accent." He ducked as Petra aimed a swat at him and chuckled at her expense.

"Alright," Alorra said, carefully putting the food back into the now-empty basket. "Let's not get carried away, okay? It's a long way to Riften. We can't afford to get careless and let our guard down."

Sobering, Argis stooped down and helped her, then reshouldered the basket, now much lighter than it had been. Brynwulf returned, reporting nothing on the road ahead or behind them. They continued on their way, Petra still shaking her legs out for the first quarter mile or so.

They passed Kynesgrove but decided not to stop. The road followed the eastern edge of the Aalto, a large expanse of geyser lands south of the small village. The air was filled with the smell of sulfur, emanating from the hot springs to their right as they walked along.

"Oh, I bet that must feel good, to soak in that warm water," Alorra cooed.

"At least until a skeever or sabre cat invited himself to your pool party," Brynwulf laughed.

"Yeah," Alorra admitted reluctantly. "I imagine that would be a damper."

"There's hot springs in Markarth," Argis commented. "Most of them are under the city, though. The Dwemer who built the place incorporated the hot springs into the indoor plumbing in most of the grander houses."

"Isn't there a public bathhouse there, too?" Brynwulf asked. Argis nodded.

"It's fairly communal," he agreed.

"What does that mean?" Petra asked.

"It means both men _and_ women share the baths at the same time, lass," Bryn smirked. "I haven't been there yet. Maybe I should look into that."

"Wait, _both?"_ Alorra blinked. "At the _same time?"_

Argis and Brynwulf both laughed. "Yeah," Argis said. "We Nords aren't as prudish as you Bretons are."

"I'm not a Breton," Alorra snapped.

"Are you sure?" Argis chuckled, enjoying this. "Because that body you're in just screams Breton."

"And you certainly seem to be offended at the thought of sharing a communal bath—" Bryn leered. He and Argis finished together, "—Just like a Breton."

In desperation Alorra turned to Petra. "Help me out here, Petra," she pleaded.

Petra shrugged and grinned wickedly. "I don't see a problem with it!"

Disgruntled, Alorra sniffed and stalked off down the road, muttering, "You're no help!"

The other three watched her for several moments, sharing the joke, before hurrying to catch up.

Alorra's pique lasted until they drew nearer to Steamcrag Camp, a former giant encampment. It was abandoned now, a fact for which Alorra was both grateful and saddened. Seeing one of the huge, lumbering humanoids would have been fascinating, but she wouldn't want to have to fight one.

Nothing had bothered them thus far. The only wildlife they'd seen were a few elk and deer crossing the road ahead to climb further up into the Velothi Mountains.

And then they heard something none of them had heard before, except the woman from another world.

"What in Oblivion is _that?" _Brynwulf breathed.

"It can't be," Argis muttered.

"Can't be what?" Petra cried, casting around furiously for the source of the moaning roar which drew nearer every second.

"Dragon!" Alorra said grimly. _Holy crap!_ she thought. _A real, live dragon! We are so screwed!_ "Take cover!" she yelled to the others, and cast Mage Armor on herself.

"There it is!" Argis called, pointing directly west, towards Bonestrewn Crest.

The dragon was huge, much bigger in real life than Alorra had anticipated from a video game. Until it attacked she had no idea if it breathed fire or frost, and hoped she was ready for either. She found a niche under a scrub tree attempting to grow out of a crack in a rock. It wasn't much, but there wasn't much cover to be found here.

Argis had pulled his bow off his back, Brynwulf doing the same, and Alorra looked around for Petra, not seeing her immediately. She hoped the little blonde thief had found a good hiding place.

Her hope that the dragon might not see them was dashed as soon as it swung around in mid-air and belched forth a column of frost their way. The ambient temperature in the immediate area plummeted as frost formed on the rocks and ground, and rimed the edges of the stagnant pools of sulfurous water.

Brynwulf leaped to one side to avoid the blast, and Argis whirled around to let fly with one of his new glass arrows. The dragon was no fool, however, and climbed quickly back into the air, wings clawing for height as it went. The arrow went wide, and Argis swore under his breath.

The dragon was swinging around, however and coming back for another attack. Alorra prepared herself and as soon as she felt it was within range, she channeled her magicka into a dual-cast Fireball, which hit the dragon squarely on the snout, at the same time two arrows, launched from either side of it, slammed into its chest under the wings. The dragon roared and sent out another wave of frost which caught Argis full frontal as he lined up another shot with his bow. He yelped, but stood his ground and fired off another arrow. It hit this time, and the dragon howled in rage.

It wheeled around once more and landed with an earth-trembling _THUD_ on the road to the south of them. Brynwulf was there, drawing his sword, and dancing out of the way of the snapping jaws. Another arrow hit the dragon from the side, but _plinked_ off its tough hide, and Alorra caught a glimpse of Petra moving to a better position.

Argis roared in challenge and pulled his own greatsword out. Alorra gave the dragon a double-shot of Firebolts before moving to a safer distance. The dragon writhed in agony and snapped at Argis, catching him on the leg as he scurried to one side. The big, sandy-haired Nord gave a yowl of his own and brought the greatsword crashing down on the dragon's head.

"Oh no, you don't!" a voice yelled, and Alorra's heart leaped into her mouth as Petra leaped onto the dragon's head.

"_PETRA!" _Brynwulf cried, momentarily caught off guard. The dragon lashed out with a wing and swept the red-haired thief of Riften off his feet, sending him flying.

"_You sonofabitch!"_ Petra shrieked. _"That's my boss!" _She stabbed furiously and repeatedly downward, finding all the vital points she could, holding onto one of its horns with one hand. The dragon twisted and squirmed, but couldn't shake the she-daedra off its head long enough to get airborne.

Brynwulf got shakily to his feet and recovered his sword from where it had been flung ten feet away. Argis was bleeding profusely from his thigh but refused to back off, swinging the dragonbone greatsword with the ease of long practice. Alorra kept peppering it with Firebolts whenever she had a clear shot.

Finally, after several minutes, the dragon – which never could get back into the air again – gasped its last, slumping to the ground. Alorra half-expected to see it light up and disintegrate, as they did in the game, but there was no Dragonborn here to take its soul, and no Alduin to bring it back to life. It was quite simply dead.

Exhausted, Argis slipped to one knee, and Alorra was suddenly there, pushing a healing potion into his hand and casting quick bursts of healing magic to stanch the blood flow long enough for the potion to work. In the end, it took two more potions and several more bursts of magicka before the wound finally closed up, new pink skin tracing a line on Argis' tanned thigh.

"Damn," he muttered. "I just got this armor repaired, too."

Alorra turned to Brynwulf, who sat by the side of the road, Petra hovering over him.

"Are you sure you're alright, Bryn?" the younger girl asked, worry puckering her brow.

"I'm fine, lass," he smiled shakily. "Just knocked for six, that's all. I'll be alright, don't worry."

"I have to worry!" Petra exclaimed. "You're the only Guild Master we've got. If anything happened to you—" she stopped and bit her lip, already afraid she'd said too much.

"If anything happened to me, Danica would take over, lass, you know that."

_But she's not you._ Petra didn't say it aloud, but she didn't need to. Alorra saw the look on her face and knew what the young girl refused to say out loud. Petra might tease and flirt with other men, but there was only one man she wanted, and right now, she wasn't sure she could have him.

Brynwulf seemed oblivious of the younger girl's distress, though, and accepted a healing potion from Alorra. After a few moments, he got to his feet, albeit a bit unsteadily, and growled, "Come on, we'd better push on."

Alorra looked wistfully at the dragon's carcass. She would have loved to take some of the bones and scales with them, but since the dragon hadn't been reduced to ash, and since she had no desire to field-dress a two-ton behemoth, she reluctantly left it behind for the carrion-eaters to pick over.

They reached Shor's Stone by mid-afternoon and pushed on towards Riften, which they made as the sky was beginning to darken. Alorra smelled the city before they saw it.

"Fragrant, isn't it?" she commented wryly, wrinkling her nose.

"Only on days that end with 'das'," Bryn said cheerfully. "You'd think our Jarl would get up off his arse and do something about the canal, but I suppose what was good enough for his forebears is good enough for him."

"Who is the Jarl?" Alorra asked. "Should I introduce myself to him?"

"I'd save ye the trouble, lass," Bryn replied. "He's a Black-Briar, and if you know what you claim to know about Skyrim, you won't need any more information than that."

"Oh dear," she sighed. "That bad, is he?"

"He makes his great-grandmother Maven look like an Agent of Mara," Brynwulf quipped.

"He's still a patron of your Guild, though, isn't he?" Alorra asked.

"Now how – no, wait, don't answer that," Bryn said quickly, trying unsuccessfully to hide his surprise. "He is, or at least, I think he still is. The last few months have been…difficult."

Alorra decided not to pursue this line of questioning, as Brynwulf was clearly becoming more and more close-mouthed about it. The fact that the Thieves' Guild was falling onto hard times, losing a key member of their organization, as well as possibly the patronage of one of the most powerful families in Skyrim was telling. Things were not going as well as Brynwulf would have them believe. Clearly the Enemy was already at work here.

"When do we meet with Karliah?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Tomorrow, I think," Bryn replied, not even attempting to hide his relief over the diversion. "I need to talk to her first, find out where she'd like to meet with you. For now, take a room at the Bee and Barb tonight. I'll contact you as soon as I have news."

He turned to leave them at the gate. Petra followed him.

"Petra? Where are you going?" Alorra called after the younger girl.

Petra smirked. "This is my home, Boss Lady. I live at the Ragged Flagon. I'm sleeping in my _own_ bed tonight!" She waved cheerfully to Alorra and Argis and followed her Guild Master into the growing darkness.


	15. Chapter 14

Deum Occidere

Chapter 14

It was actually two days before Brynwulf was able to contact them again. Petra stopped by to explain in a breathless rush that he was needed for "Guild-related business", but that he had assured her personally he wouldn't forget his promise to them. Argis had his doubts, and wasn't ashamed to voice them. Petra staunchly stood up for her Guild Master, and only Alorra coming between them kept them from saying words they might later regret.

Petra left shortly after, still fuming, and Argis muttered something about seeing to his armor before leaving the Bee and Barb. Alorra was left alone, irritated at both but worried about one or both of them leaving permanently. She didn't believe it would be Argis, but the man had his principles, and made no secret he disliked working with thieves.

There wasn't anything she could do about it now except wait to see what Brynwulf had to say regarding a meeting with the legendary Karliah.

To pass the time, Alorra decided to explore Riften. She hadn't had much of a chance before, when she and Argis had come here looking for Muiri and Hamund, a decision that had ironically set them both on the path they were on now.

Much of the town was as it had been in the game, except the alchemist's shop had been relocated to the building that had formerly been Honeyside, the Dragonborn's home in Riften. It was now called "Timely Brews" and was run by a rather jovial Imperial by the name of Alistair Vendicci.

"You're new in town, I take it?" he asked as she poked through his bins and barrels. "Here for the fishing?"

"Not really," Alorra said. "Just visiting friends."

"Really?" Alistair blinked. "Who are your friends? I might know them."

_Oh boy,_ she thought. She really didn't want to give out names, and if she did – especially Brynwulf's – she had a feeling he might know them _too_ well. "Do you have any blisterwort?" she asked, changing the subject. Alistair couldn't fail to notice she hadn't answered his question.

"Of course!" he replied. "Very useful. I always keep a fresh supply on hand." He pulled a box out from under the counter and let her go through the fungi, picking out the best samples. All the while he kept firing a barrage of questions at her regarding with whom she was traveling, how long had they been on the road, had they heard any good rumors lately. Alorra kept her answers short and unspecific, inquiring after more rare and hard-to-find ingredients. He seemed to have just what she needed at hand, and launched into more questions.

"Where are you from?" he inquired. Really, the man was _too_ inquisitive!

"Whiterun," she replied. "What about spriggan sap? Have you got any of that?"

"Hmm…" he muttered. "I may have a bottle left in the back. Let me check for you."

Relieved to be left alone for a moment, Alorra pulled several other ingredients from the bins and piled them on the counter.

The door to the back was ajar, and Alorra heard Alistair muttering to himself. At least, it sounded like he was holding a conversation. She edged closer.

"—tight-lipped so far. I'll keep trying to find out more, but I make no promises, Matthias."

"You'd better," came a voice she knew too well, for all that she'd only met him once. Matthias Blackheart's voice seemed terribly far away, though. She edged closer to peer through the crack and caught a glimpse of a hand holding some kind of glowing orb. It pulsed in time to the voice emanating from it. "Our Lord and Master is not known for patience. Results are needed. Find out where they're going and report back at once. Dismissed."

Alorra slipped back into position in front of the counter and pasted a smile on her face. Leaving now would put Alistair, and by extension the Enemy, on alert, so she kept her voice as neutral as possible and concluded her transactions as quickly as was reasonable, answering Alistair Vendicci's questions with vague, blanket statements that could have meant anything.

How long were they going to stay in town? She wasn't sure. Who were those friends of hers again? No one of importance, just friends. Where were they headed after their visit? Probably back to Whiterun.

Alorra breathed a huge sigh of relief when the door of Timely Brews closed behind her. She maintained a steady, unhurried pace, wandering back to the Bee and Barb with her purchases, just in case Vendicci was watching from the window. She deliberately didn't turn back to look.

"You sure about this?" Argis asked, his voice full of concern. They were seated at a quiet table in the corner of the Bee and Barb, away from prying eyes and pitcher ears.

"Positive," Alorra said in soft tones. "He kept asking me all kinds of questions, and after a bit he went into the back and reported to Matthias Blackheart."

"That's not good," Argis rumbled. "Think they'll try anything?"

Alorra shrugged. "I'm not sure. I don't think so, but we'd best stay alert."

"You want me to stand watch tonight?"

Alorra's brow furrowed. She looked torn. "I'd hate for you to lose sleep over this, Argis," she said sadly. "I just don't know who to trust anymore, except you and Petra."

Argis felt ashamed. His terse words with the little blonde thief earlier in the day may have sworn her off helping them. "Guess I didn't help matters much, did I?" he sighed.

"I'm sure she'll come back, Argis," Alorra soothed. "But maybe in future it might be a good idea, for the sake of everyone, to just try and get along. Petra's on our side, after all. I don't want to alienate her."

"Ali—what?"

"I don't want to give her a chance to turn against us."

"The Pipsqueak wouldn't do that!" Argis exclaimed, shocked she'd even suggest it.

"I don't think she would, either," Alorra agreed. "But the Enemy has ways of getting to you and making you think you're doing the right thing, when you're really furthering his own agenda."

Argis said nothing, but brooded in silence. He wondered if it might be a good idea to find Petra and apologize to her, but he wasn't sure exactly where she lived. She'd mentioned she had a place at the Ragged Flagon, but he had no idea where that was, and didn't think it would be a good idea to ask around in a city like Riften.

Kaneesha came over and asked if they wanted anything else, and Alorra declined.

"I'm going to head on up to bed," she said.

"Think I'll stay here a bit longer," Argis decided. "I'll have another ale, Kaneesha."

Alorra shrugged and made her way up the stairs.

Argis lingered over his ale, scowling into it. He didn't like being wrong, but he was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that he'd really put his foot in it this time. He was even more honest to admit they needed Petra's help. She'd been able to get into some places neither he nor Bright Eyes would have been able to get into unseen; she'd found things like potions and gold and equipment they could sell that might have been overlooked otherwise; she was a damned good fighter, when push came to shove, and lately they'd been shoved quite a bit.

He knocked back the last of the ale and made up his mind. When Kaneesha came over to ask if he wanted another he shook his head.

"I just need to know how to get to the Ragged Flagon," he said.

Petra threw herself into her routine, both Elven daggers flashing in the light from the goat horn sconces lining the practice room. Her fellow Guild-brothers and sisters took one look at the fierce determination in her eyes and decided it would be more tactful to stay out of her way. Even Brynwulf had steered clear, after first trying to get her to talk and receiving a bitter, "I don't want to talk about it," in return.

The big oaf! Who did he think he was? He wasn't her father, or her brother, and he had no right to tell her who she could hang around with, especially since the man in question was her _real_ boss. She had grown quite fond of Alorra, and felt sad she couldn't be around to help her finish her quest, but she didn't have to stick around and listen to the Big Guy bad-mouth the one person with whom Petra was deeply, profoundly, and secretly in love.

Not that she could ever tell Brynwulf that. All her Guild-sisters (and a few of her Guild-brothers) secretly yearned after the red-haired Guild Master, the youngest one in the history of the Guild, in fact. But Bryn seemed to have his own code of honor, and never took a partner from within the Guild. His second, Danica, commented on it once, not knowing Petra was on the other side of the half-wall in the Flagon and within hearing.

"Why haven't you taken one of them up on it?" she'd asked. "Gods know most of them want to get into your bed."

Bryn had laughed carelessly. "Too easy, lass," he'd said. "And bad for business. A man in my position starts dallying with the rest of the employees, someone's bound to get hurt feelings. Then they start maneuvering for position and favors, forming alliances against each other in an effort to win the prize – that'd be me, of course – and the next thing you know, they're at each other's throats when they should have each other's backs. I won't make that mistake."

Petra had closed her eyes in despair. There went any hope of ever catching Brynwulf's eye. He'd never consider her as a love-interest now.

Remembering this fueled her aggression and fury. Damn the Big Guy for forcing her to choose her Guild family first and missing out on a great adventure. Damn Brynwulf for making her fall in love with him, even if he was unaware of it. And as a matter of fact, damn all men in general! Maybe she'd have to start looking at women. She gave a particularly vicious slice to the practice dummy and its arm fell off. Overbalanced on its other side, it toppled over completely.

She stood there, breathing heavily, staring stupidly at the damage she'd done.

"Glad that's not me lying there," Vance quipped, coming into the practice room.

Petra whirled around. "What do you want?" she glared.

Vance held up his hands. "Hey, I just came in to practice," he said in a conciliatory tone. "Besides, Danica sent me to find you. There's someone out in the Flagon asking for you."

"Who?" Petra's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Dunno," Vance shrugged, pulling out his bow and stringing it. "Some huge brute of a Nord with reddish-blonde hair. Forgot his name—Petra?" he called out, realizing he was already talking to thin air. "Huh," he mumbled as he nocked an arrow. "Didn't think that was her type."

Petra practically flew through the corridors and the Cistern, only pausing a moment before entering the Ragged Flagon to still her excited breathing and put on an air of calm indifference. So what if he showed up here – and how had he managed to find this place? It made no difference to her one way or the other. She was done with them.

She entered the Flagon and saw Argis sitting at the table closest to the exit. He stood when he saw her, looking suddenly unsure of himself.

"Hey Pip—I mean, Petra," he said.

"Argis," she managed to say without her voice cracking. "What brings you here? This isn't exactly a nice place, you know." She ignored the dirty look Wagner threw at her from behind the bar.

"I came to apologize," he replied, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Really?" she breathed, before clearing her throat and reassuming her posture of indifference. "Okay, so you're sorry. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Petra, please," Argis begged, crossing the floor to her. He reached out to take her hand, aware that half a dozen people around them were suddenly reaching for their weapons. He let his hand fall. "I was wrong to say what I did. You can be with whoever you want to be with. It's not my place to say. Only please come back. We need you, Bright Eyes and I."

They needed her. And Brynwulf never would. Once he'd found out whether or not Karliah would meet with them, he would most likely be done with them. He would return to his duties as Guild Master, and she could stay here and pine after him, like all the other Guild-sisters.

Or not.

"You really do need me?" she asked. She didn't even mind the note of uncertainty in her voice. If the Big Guy said it, it must be true. He wouldn't string her along like that.

"Yeah, we do," he smiled. "You're smart, talented, a skilled fighter, and great at all the other things you do." He deliberately didn't list them on principle, but that was fine by her. He didn't have to like what she did for a living, as long as he didn't criticize it to her face.

"Then….I guess I could come back," she began slowly, "I mean, for a little while, anyway."

"That'd be great," he said, grinning. For a long moment the two stared at each other. Petra broke first.

"I've missed you guys, too!" she whooped, leaping at him and hugging him around the neck, and getting bear-hugged in return. The other patrons of the Flagon seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief and went about their businesses.

Petra slid back down to the ground and gave Argis a light punch on the arm. "I'll see you two tomorrow, then. Still at the 'Barb?"

"Yeah," Argis nodded, then sobered. "Sit down a minute, Pipsqueak," he said. "I gotta tell you something important."

They sat down, and hurriedly, in hushed tones, Argis told Petra about Alorra's encounter at Timely Brews.

"By the gods!" Petra breathed. "Alistair, working for the Enemy? I can't believe it!"

"Bright Eyes wouldn't lie about a thing like that," Argis muttered.

"She doesn't lie at _all!_" Petra agreed. "Listen, Big Guy, I've got an idea. Let me work on that and see what I can do. I'll meet you two tomorrow, but not at the Bee and Barb. Too public. Bring the Boss Lady down here, say around ten-ish. I should have something by then."

"What are you gonna do?" Argis asked, but Petra put her finger to her lips and winked.

"My secret," she grinned. "The fewer people who know, the better. Remember, this is what I do."

"That's why I'm glad you're on our side," said Argis, returning her grin.

Alorra clung as close to Argis as she could. It was one thing to go through the labyrinthine warren of the Ratway in a video game, where the worst that could happen would be a character death and subsequent respawn. This…this was all too real. How had Argis managed to get through this place intact?

Someone had raised the drawbridge – again – so they'd had to work their way around the long way, dodging traps, picking off skeevers and fighting the lowlifes determined to gut them and take their coin. At length, however, they finally reached the entrance to the Ragged Flagon relatively unscathed.

The rest of the Warren was awash with the smell of feces, urine and unwashed bodies, mold and rot and several other scents she would rather not speculate on. So it was with great surprise that the door opened into a large underground reservoir filled with fresh water. Surrounding the reservoir were five open areas: four smaller alcoves flanking it two on either side, and a larger area at the back which Alorra knew was the Ragged Flagon tavern. The smaller alcoves were filled with an alchemy shop, a smithy, and two weapons and general goods stores.

Argis led her around the right-hand side, over the footbridge past the bouncer, who glowered at them, and pulled a chair out for her at the closest table to the entrance. The bartender, Wagner, came over as they sat down.

"You'd better have coin to pay for your drinks," he grumbled. "No hand-outs here."

"We have coin," Alorra assured him. "We're meeting someone here."

"I know," Wagner threw over his shoulder as he returned to the bar with their drink order. "Everyone here knows. Damned place is turning into farmer's market."

Alorra raised her eyebrow at Argis, who was grinning.

"I don't get it," she said.

"It's a way of saying the place is becoming a legitimate meeting place, where nothing underhanded happens. Like a temple."

"Oh, I see now," Alorra nodded, smiling slightly. "Well, I suppose I could try starting a barfight. That might get us thrown out before we get to talk to Petra, though."

Argis almost choked at the thought of his Bright Eyes picking a fight with someone.

"Who's getting thrown out?" Petra asked, coming up and taking a seat.

"No one," Argis said, clearing his throat.

"I am," Alorra said cheerily. "I just need to figure out with whom to pick a fight."

Petra looked from one to the other. "You're joking, right?" she asked.

Unable to keep up the pretence, Alorra grinned. "Of course I am!" she said, to everyone's relief. "So, Petra," she continued in more subdued tones. "Argis said you wanted to meet us here. He said you were planning something covert that you wouldn't reveal, even to him."

"Yeah," Petra grinned, dropping her voice to a quiet murmur. "And boy did I hit pay dirt!"

Alorra and Argis leaned in to hear her better.

"What did you find out?" Argis muttered.

"That our friend Alistair has been doing quite well for someone who's supposedly a lowly alchemist. I took a look at his books last night after he closed his shop and went to bed."

Alorra refrained from expressing displeasure over the breaking and entering, reminding herself that perhaps this was why her Superior had sent the little blonde thief to her.

Petra continued to speak. "It seems he's been here a lot longer than we realized. I always thought he came from Cyrodiil a handful of years ago and took over from the Altmer alchemist that used to run the shop. His name was Rhaemir Gilathon."

"And?" Alorra prompted.

"Turns out Alistair's name isn't Alistair," Petra said gleefully. "And he's not even Imperial!"

"He sure looked like an Imperial," Alorra said drily.

"No!" Petra exclaimed in hushed tones. "Don't you see? It's all an illusion! Alistair is really Rhaemir!"

Alorra slumped backwards in her chair, completely taken aback. Argis looked flummoxed. "You mean he keeps up an illusion of being someone else all day every day?" Alorra gasped. "How is that even possible? He'd run out of magicka eventually!"

"He doesn't use magicka," said Petra smugly. She pulled an amulet from her pocket. "He used this."

Alorra gaped. The aura of magic radiating from the necklace was one of the most powerful illusion spells she'd ever felt since coming to Skyrim. Even the illusions she'd shown Brynwulf and the others couldn't compare to this. She didn't even want to contemplate what Petra must have done to acquire it.

Argis began to chuckle. Alorra turned a questioning eye on him. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

Argis only began to laugh louder.

"Come on, Big Guy!" Petra complained. "Let us in on the joke!"

"Don't you see?" he grinned. "I think Alistair Vendicci is going to suddenly come down with a dire illness and have to close his shop for a while, because he's not going to be able to show his face in public!"

Petra smirked, then began to giggle, and finally joined Argis in laughter. Alorra permitted herself to grin widely. "Then I guess I'm glad I bought those alchemical ingredients yesterday when I had the chance!"

After they allowed themselves a good chuckle, Petra revealed what else she'd learned.

"Rhaemir Gilathon had ties to the Aldmeri Dominion," she said. "I remember when I first joined the Guild somebody told me he'd had to leave Riften because Jarl Zander had no love for the Thalmor in his city. Because of the Jarl's ties to the Thieves' Guild…" Here Petra stammered a little, but she wasn't telling Alorra or Argis anything they didn't already know. "Anyway, because of those ties, any Thalmor agents who came here looking for Talos-worshippers would mysteriously disappear. Then Jarl Zander would wring his hands in public and promise to get to the bottom of it, and eventually the Thalmor stopped sending their spies here. Only they hadn't. They just set Rhaemir up as a simple alchemist as a front. All the while he was feeding the Thalmor information. When Jarl Zander got wind of it, he gave Rhaemir a choice of leaving town with his head…or without it."

"But Rhaemir didn't really leave," Argis said, piecing it together. "He just made it look like he did and came back under the perfect disguise."

"And he could still feed information to the Aldmeri Dominion about anything going on in Riften," Alorra nodded. "So how did he get hooked up with Matthias Blackheart? Did you find anything out about that?"

"I sure did," Petra said. "It was all in his journal. I wish I could have brought it with me, but he kept it under his pillow, for crying out loud."

"Then how did you read it?" Argis asked.

"I had to slip it out from under his head after he fell asleep, read it and slip it back under again," Petra shrugged.

"Damn, you're good!" Argis chuckled, giving her a one-armed hug. Petra beamed under the accolades.

"So what did his journal say?" Alorra inquired.

"Oh! Right," Petra said hastily. "Matthias Blackheart contacted him soon after he returned to Riften as Alistair Vendicci. It seems someone told Matthias who Alistair really was."

"So he's blackmailing the alchemist," Alorra said thoughtfully. She had a pretty good idea who it was who had told Matthias about Alistair's true identity.

"That's what it looks like. He gave Alistair something to help him communicate over long distances. That must have been the glowing ball the Big Guy said you saw. He told him he'd be in touch when the time was right, but a couple years went by with no contact, and Alistair was beginning to think he was free."

"But then we showed up."

"Right," Petra nodded. "Or rather, _you_ did. It seems that soon after you first appeared here in Skyrim, Matthias Blackheart contacted Alistair and reminded him of his obligation. When you and the Big Guy first came to Riften, he was supposed to chat you up and find out more about you, but you never came to his shop. I guess Blackheart wasn't too happy about that. He made threats to Alistair to make sure if you stopped in Riften again to seek you out if you didn't come to him."

Alorra digested this bit of information. She wondered how many other shopkeepers across Skyrim would be agents of the Enemy, keeping a watchful eye out for her and reporting her movements. Well, it couldn't be helped. She wasn't going to skulk in shadows forever. The Enemy liked darkness. He understood it. What he couldn't understand was light and truth and love.

"Petra you are amazing," Alorra praised. "I don't think any of us could have done a better job!"

Petra squirmed happily in her seat.

"And under the circumstances, I think you should hold onto the amulet."

"Really?" the younger girl breathed. Then her brow furrowed. "It won't make me look like Alistair, will it?" she frowned.

Alorra laughed. "No, I don't believe it will," she assured the little blonde thief. "Unless you want to look like him, of course."

"That might actually come in handy," Argis chuckled.

"It's simply a powerful Amulet of Illusion," Alorra clarified. "It will make you look like whatever you want to look like."

"I could go back to Windhelm with this!" Petra grinned. Alorra rolled her eyes.

"Yes, you probably could, but for now, we have other things to do. Have you heard from Brynwulf yet?"

Petra nodded, her face sobering. "Yes. He said to meet him by the Shadow Stone outside of Riften when we were done here. I'm to take you there."

"Does he already know what we've discussed?" Argis asked.

The younger girl nodded again. "I brought him up to speed as soon as I got back. He's spoken with Karliah, and she's agreed to meet you."

"Well, at least we won't have anyone tailing us," Argis grinned. "You've effectively confined Alistair, or Rhaemir, or whatever his name is to his shop."

"All the same," Alorra said, "I think we'd be better off slipping away as unseen as possible."

"I'll take you through the Cistern," Petra said. "Brynwulf suggested it. We have a secret way out."

As they left Riften, Alorra couldn't help but feel eyes watching her, and she didn't think they were the guards posted at the southern gate. Not for the first time she thought how useful some of the Dragon Shouts might be in a situation like this; Aura Whisper would have told her right away if anyone was close by, tailing them.

But she wasn't a Dragonborn, and didn't know any Shouts. And at the moment, firing off any kind of spell just to find out if there was someone watching them would be like sending up a beacon.

They made it to the Shadow Stone where Brynwulf met them.

"Good, you're finally here," he said. "I was beginning to worr—er, wonder if you were going to make it."

Alorra noticed the near slip, but tactfully said nothing. So Bryn was starting to care what happened to their little party. Good. The red-haired thief could probably use a healthy dose of caring.

"Where's this Karliah person?" Argis rumbled.

"Not far," Brynwulf said. "But I'm going to have to blindfold you and the little lady."

"What?" Argis growled, in a dangerous tone. Alorra put her hand on his arm.

"It's alright, Argis," she soothed. "I understand why."

"Well I don't—" he started, but Alorra stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Shhh! For me, please?" she asked.

He looked down into her emerald green eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. "Well, alright. But don't think that gets you a pass every time, understand?"

"Of course," she said in a conciliatory tone, seeing Petra turn away to hide a grin.

Blindfolded, Petra led Alorra while Bryn led Argis; they walked – or rather, stumbled – along for what seemed a long, long time, but was in reality only a matter of minutes before they felt the chill of entering a cave. The path they were on led down and around like a corkscrew. Finally they stopped and the blindfolds were removed. Alorra and Argis blinked to give their eyes a chance to adjust to the dim light.

Without any words, Brynwulf led them all down the tunnel until they eventually came to a large cavern cut through by a small stream. A shaft of sunlight pierced through the roof, the bright light painful after the dimness of the tunnel. After another few moments to adjust, Bryn led them over a stone bridge to the other side, where a small, thin, Dunmer woman sat waiting for them. She stood as they approached.

"So Brynwulf," she said softly, her voice just as low and melodious as Alorra remembered from the game. "Tell me, who are these people who so desperately need my help?"

Brynwulf made the introductions, and for a moment, Alorra was at a loss for words. This was _Karliah_, for goodness' sake! Even meeting Niranye didn't tie her tongue like this! And now that she was here, she hardly knew where to begin.

"I'm Alorra," she began, "and I was hoping you could tell me—" she broke off. Tell her what? If Nocturnal was still around? If she knew anything about the magic disappearing from Skyrim? If she'd heard the name Melek Taus or Matthias Blackheart?"

Karliah seemed to sense her dilemma, for she smiled and gestured to an area set up with rugs, comfortable-looking chairs and a side table with food and drink.

"Why don't we sit and get comfortable?" she suggested. "It must be close to midday, and I'm sure you must be hungry."

They followed the dark elf thief – Nightingale, Alorra reminded herself – over and took seats. Bryn and Petra filled plates and goblets for their guests and hostess before helping themselves. When everyone was comfortable, Alorra took a deep breath to begin her tale, but Karliah forestalled her by raising her hand.

"First, please, let me say that I have some idea who you are, and why you're here," she said in her quiet way. "Until recently, I would commune on almost a daily basis with Nocturnal. All that ceased about a year ago when—" here she stopped, unable to continue.

"When your daughter died," Alorra finished sympathetically.

Karliah nodded. "Deirdre was the light of my life," she said. "Losing her was the worst day of my long life, and I've had many bad days."

"No parent should go through the loss of a child," Argis said softly. There was a tone in his voice that made the others look at him curiously. He took a deep breath and continued. "I was married once, briefly. Her name was Marta, and she was the daughter of a neighboring farmer. We were both young; I was barely out of my teens, Marta was a year or so younger. We were very happy together, and expecting our first child."

Alorra felt a sudden rush of jealousy course through her. It was ridiculous, she knew, but there it was. She said nothing, however, as Argis continued.

"When the baby came, we were absolutely besotted with him. I was sure he would grow into a fine, strong young man. We named him Roald, after my Pa." He took a ragged breath. "Marta doted on him, day and night. Wouldn't let anyone else take care of him, even me, sometimes. I almost felt like I had to sneak into his room just to get to see him sometimes.

"Then one day, Roald got sick. Just a cough at first, but it got worse and worse. After a couple days we sent for a healer, but by the time he got there, Roald was so weak he couldn't fight off whatever made him sick. He died two days later. I was devastated. Marta….well, I don't think Marta got over it. She kept going into his room, rocking his cradle, but he wasn't in it. Her Ma said to give her a doll or something to substitute until she snapped out of it, so I did. But Marta never recovered. She'd change the doll's nappy, dress it up in Roald's clothes, try to get it to suckle her." He drew a hand through his hair, eyes lost in the past.

"She shut me out. I was hurt, too. I was grieving, but I couldn't even get comfort from my own wife. So we drifted further and further apart, both of us hurting, and neither one of us knowing what to do to fix it."

"What happened?" Karliah asked softly.

"I woke up late one morning after a rough night. I—I'd been drinking," he admitted. "Seemed the only way to numb the pain. When I finally woke up it was late in the morning. The cow was moaning to be milked, the chickens were fighting over any worms or insects they could find because they hadn't been fed yet." He paused, his face haunted. "And Marta's side of the bed was cold and empty." He closed his eyes and drew another ragged breath.

"I ran outside looking for her, calling and calling. I searched everywhere. Finally I found her by the riverside. She'd flung herself from the cliff, still clutching the doll that she thought was Roald. I should have been there for her, but I wasn't."

Karliah rose and crossed over to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. "That wasn't your fault," she said kindly. "Any more than Deirdre's death was mine." She sighed. "Oh, of course I blamed myself. I should have gone with her on that heist. I should have had her back. I should have—I don't know, kept her from going, perhaps. But she knew what she was doing. And who could have guessed that anything would go wrong?"

She sat down next to Argis and slipped her arm around his shoulders as they shook from repressed sorrow.

"You've never really had a chance to grieve, have you?" she asked in her quiet way. And Alorra realized that she wasn't even jealous anymore; not of Marta, nor Argis' loving someone before her, nor even of Karliah, sitting there now with her arm around the sandy-haired Nord, holding him while he wept.

"You _do_ know what I've gone through," Karliah whispered, hugging him in a most sisterly way. Alorra found herself getting up and crossing the area to sit on Argis' other side. She slipped her arm around him and held him, eyes meeting Karliah's over his head and expressing without words her gratitude.

It was several minutes before Argis got himself under control, during which time Brynwulf and Petra quietly slipped to one side to give them some privacy. When Karliah spoke again it was to Alorra.

"I was telling you that I already knew a little bit about you," she began. "That's because Nocturnal told me. She knew some of the other Daedric Princes were missing, and she didn't think it was random. She told me to watch out for someone she called the "Outworlder", and that Brynwulf would bring that person to me. 'Give her what help you can,' she told me. It wasn't long after that that I lost all contact with Nocturnal."

"What?" Brynwulf exclaimed, coming back over. "What do you mean, you lost contact with her?"

"Just what I said, Bryn," Karliah said firmly. "The conduit is open, the Key is there, but there's no Nocturnal."

"How is that possible?" the red-haired thief demanded.

"I don't know," Karliah said, purple eyes glittering. "If you'd been here more often maybe you'd have found it out sooner than now."

"I've got a Guild to run, Karliah!" he said, almost shouting at her.

"And you've also got an obligation to Nocturnal," she returned, never raising her voice, which made her sound even more dangerous. "My daughter is dead, Bryn, and that leaves only the two of us as Nightingales."

"You could have appointed another," he shot back.

"There wasn't anyone I might have considered before now," she replied cryptically. "I would have investigated it myself, but I had…another duty." She seemed almost embarrassed, remembering how she had just reprimanded him.

"I thought you said our first duty was to Nocturnal," he sneered.

"Don't be an ass, Brynwulf," Karliah sniffed. "Of course she's our first priority. But I also had someone to look after whom I couldn't leave."

"What are you talking about?" Bryn asked, suspiciously. "Who do you have to look after?"

Karliah stared him straight in the eyes. "Wylandriah," was all she said.

Alorra's eyes widen in amazement. Wylandriah? What could Karliah mean by that?

"She's here?" Bryn gaped.

"I couldn't leave her alone, Bryn, you know that."

"No, I know," he demurred, "but…are you sure it was right to bring her here?"

"Where else would she have been safe?" Karliah shrugged. "Nocturnal didn't object."

"You mean to say, Wylandriah, former court mage of Riften is actually _here?_" Alorra asked with delight.

Karliah nodded. "She's been here since she was…fired, by Jarl Zander ten years ago."

"Can I meet her?" Alorra gushed. "I have so many questions I want to ask!"

Karliah seemed to consider carefully, then said hesitantly, "I'll take you to her, but please don't get your hopes up. She's not the person she was."

Following the Dunmer Nightingale, Alorra, Argis and Petra were led deeper into the depths of Nightingale Hall, with Brynwulf bringing up the rear. This part of the Hall had been given over to residential quarters, and in its heyday must have been quite impressive. Now, however, it only looked run down, but there appeared to have been some effort made at keeping it habitable.

Karliah led them to a smaller chamber off to one side. It had a fire blazing in an iron brazier, sconces clinging to the walls around the room, and cozy furnishings and rugs scattered everywhere. In a large, comfortable chair in one corner sat a tall, thin Bosmer woman in a worn out hoodless blue robe. She didn't look up as they entered.

Trying to still the excitement in her heart at finally meeting someone who could give her the answers she sought, Alorra approached the ancient Bosmer mage.

"Hello, Wylandriah," she said softly.

The older woman didn't even acknowledge her presence. Alorra felt let down. "Wylandriah?" she tried again, waving a hand in front of the woman's face. Nothing. Not even a blink. The wood elf stared into some unimaginable distance, oblivious of anything around her.

Alorra turned to Karliah. "You knew this, didn't you?" she accused.

"I did try to warn you," the Dunmer Nightingale said softly. "Her mind is quite gone, and has been for nearly ten years."

"How did she end up here, then?" Alorra asked.

Karliah hesitated before answering. "My…daughter, Deirdre and I found her in the Riften cemetery one night, where she was hiding from the Riften guards. She was out of her mind with fear." She took a deep breath before continuing. "We knew Wylandriah never had a very good grip on reality, but she was always a brilliant mage, if she could just remember to write things down. When we found her, she was babbling nonsense about a great evil that was coming. Soon after that, she became almost catatonic. She functioned, but could no longer speak."

The dark elf's face contorted in a scowl, a rare display of emotion for the calm, collected Karliah. "We took her around the corner to the Temple of Mara, but the priests there were unable to help her. We learned from them, however, that Jarl Zander Black-Briar had accused her of attempted murder, after she went crazy in his court, firing off Destruction magic all over the place, and claiming there were 'demons' coming out of the woodwork. One of the spells nearly hit his teen-aged son, so Zander had the guards attempt to arrest her. She fled Mistveil Keep and headed out into the streets. Jarl Zander cleared out her quarters, where she'd served as court mage for the last two hundred years or so. He told everyone she was a lunatic and he had no room for her in his court. He put out a warrant for her arrest, but didn't care if she was caught alive or dead."

Brynwulf growled. "I never knew this, Karliah. Why didn't you say something?"

"What good would it have done, Bryn?" she returned. "Jarl Zander was determined to be rid of her, and we couldn't get any answers from Wylandriah. She was clearly terrified of something, and if we pressed her too hard she'd begin to moan and cry. Deirdre and I decided to bring her here, to Nightingale Hall. At least we could keep an eye on her and keep her comfortable for however many days she had left. We honestly didn't think she'd hang on this long. Besides, you were only an apprentice member of the Guild when all this happened. Why should I have said anything?"

"But I became a Nightingale," he argued. "You recruited me and swore me in yourself. Why didn't you say anything then?"

"You didn't spend a lot of time here, Bryn," Karliah replied, impassively. "Had you done, I might have revealed our secret to you. As it stood, the fewer people who knew she was here, the better for her safety."

"Her safety?" Alorra demanded, perking up. "What do you mean?"

"There have been two attempts on Wylandriah's life," Karliah admitted. "The first attempt failed to kill her, but took her mind instead. That's what drove her to madness at Mistveil Keep and forced her out into the city, where Deirdre and I found her in the cemetery."

"And the second?" Petra asked, crouching down to look Wylandriah in the eyes.

"On the way here, just outside Riften," Karliah replied. "We were set upon by necromancers, and only just managed to fight them off. Thank Nocturnal the Hall wasn't much further away, though I don't think our enemies knew that. We slipped in here and stayed for several days to throw them off the trail."

"You poor woman," Petra whispered. "Who would want you dead?" She didn't expect a reply, and was startled when she got one.

"The Enemy," Wylandriah whispered. "Kill the mages. Kill the magic. Turn the world to darkness." She lapsed into silence again, staring hollow-eyed at nothing. The five people around her stared back at her in shock, Karliah seeming to be the most moved.

"That's the first time she's spoken in ten years!" she whispered. "You must be someone very special, young Petra, to have gotten that much out of her!"

Alorra put her arm across the elder mage's shoulders and hugged her silently.

"Well, then, that explains quite a few things," Brynwulf sighed.

"We already knew the Enemy wants to get rid of magic in Tamriel," Argis said.

"Not just Tamriel," Karliah countered. "All over the realm of Nirn. It's one of the few things I learned from Nocturnal before I lost contact with her. With no mages to fight him, he can create another Oblivion Crisis."

"So he can bring himself into this realm," Alorra worried. _And he's using the power of the Daedric Princes to do it._ But she didn't say that last bit aloud. Argis and Petra already knew it, and she suspected Karliah did, too. Bryn…well, there always had to be one skeptic in the crowd.

"And you believe all this nonsense, Karliah?" Brynwulf asked, doubtfully.

"It's not nonsense, Bryn," Karliah said. "It's real. Something has prevented Nocturnal from communing with us through the Twilight Sepulcher. Haven't you noticed your luck fading? I didn't dare leave Wylandriah alone to investigate."

Bryn nodded. "Then I'll go find out," he said, and Karliah threw him a grateful look.

"But not alone," she said. "You'll need someone with you to watch your back. We can't lose our Guild Master, and we certainly can't afford to lose another Nightingale."

"I'll go," Petra said, firmly.

"Petra! No!" Alorra gasped. "You don't know what you're committing yourself to."

"Yes, I do, Boss Lady," Petra said. "I'm committing myself to my Guild. I'm needed, and this is something I can do."

"But you're not a Nightingale," the red-haired girl protested.

"That's easily remedied," said the little blonde thief. She turned to Karliah. "Swear me in," she said, and it wasn't even a request. "You know I can do this, I _have_ to do it. The future of our Guild depends on it. And so does the future of Tamriel."

"This isn't a game, little one," Karliah said seriously. "You can't stop being a Nightingale once you strike the bargain with Nocturnal. The contract lasts even after death, to serve her and to protect the Sepulcher."

"But you can't even reach her," Argis pointed out. "You said so yourself."

"I can give Petra probationary powers in the form of Nightingale armor until she reaches the Twilight Sepulcher," Karliah shrugged. "If she's able to commune with Nocturnal there, it will be up to the Mistress of Shadows to confirm or reject her."

Alorra turned to Petra, her heart breaking. She had hoped to keep Petra from this very thing. "Petra, are you sure this is what you want to do?" Her eyes pleaded with the younger girl to change her mind, but Petra was adamant.

"Yes, Boss Lady," she said firmly. "You know I'll still help you and the Big Guy, but I have to do this."

_You have to let go of the apron strings,_ Alorra thought. _She's not a child, and she's no relation to you. She's her own person. She can make her own decisions._

"We can't follow you, Argis and I," she cautioned.

Petra nodded and swallowed hard. "I know," she whispered. "But Brynwulf will be there." Her eyes lit up as she said this, and Alorra knew without words why Petra was so keen on this. She hoped it would be worth it to the little blonde thief.

"Go with the gods, then," Alorra whispered back, hugging Petra close and kissing her on the forehead. "Just be careful and come back to us, okay?"

Petra quirked a grin. "I promise nothing," she replied, impishly. But her eyes were somber as she turned to Karliah.

"I'm ready, Karliah," she said solemnly. "Swear me in."


	16. Chapter 15

Deum Occidere

Chapter 15

In the end, Karliah surprised them all by announcing she would be going with Bryn and Petra, "But only if you two could stay here with Wylandriah," she added, looking at the Outworlder and her companion. "I have a strong feeling Nocturnal will need her Nightingale Trinity there for her in force, if what you've said is true."

Alorra looked over at the Bosmer mage, staring back into space after her all too brief outburst.

"We can do that," she agreed. Argis nodded.

"Alorra's a healer," he supplied. "Maybe she can help the poor woman."

Karliah's eyes lit up. "That would be wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I don't hold out much hope, though. The priests of Mara at the Temple couldn't do anything for her."

Alorra wasn't sure she could either, but she owed it to the Nightingales to try. After all, this was one quest for which she couldn't be there personally.

"I'll try," was all she said, as Bryn, Karliah, and Petra in her new gray leather Nightingale armor, stepped through the portal to the Twilight Sepulcher.

The twisting, sinking, curling feeling in her stomach made Petra want to throw up. Only the knowledge that it might come back and hit her in the face made her choke down her gorge. In a matter of moments, her feet hit solid ground, and she staggered before sinking to her knees.

"First time's always the roughest, lass," Brynjolf grinned behind his cowl, as he helped her to her feet. "Come, have a look. This is the Ebonmere."

"What exactly is it?" Petra asked.

"This is the conduit to the Evergloam," Karliah explained, "Nocturnal's realm in Oblivion."

Petra shuddered. "We have to go in there?" she whispered.

"Still time to back out, lass," Brynwulf said. "You're not officially a Nightingale yet. You can go back and wait at the Hall until we return."

Part of her – a small part of her – wanted nothing more than to do just that. But to go back meant admitting cowardice, and Petra couldn't stomach the thought of Bryn looking at her pityingly for the rest of her Guild days, knowing she just didn't measure up.

The larger part of her wanted to see this adventure through to it conclusion.

She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. "I'm not going back," she said firmly. "Last one in's a rotten egg!" She jumped into the swirling miasma of darkness, Karliah and Brynwulf right behind her.

Their feet hit something solid. It looked like the usual ebbing, flowing streams of ether that was the Ebonmere, but it was as firm as rock.

"What happened?" Petra asked, rubbing her feet gingerly, one at a time. That had hurt!

"Nothing happened," Karliah frowned. "I don't understand it. We're supposed to be able to get to the Evergloam through this portal."

"We're screwed," Brynwulf said. "If we can't get through, we can't find out what happened."

"Perhaps we can be of assistance?" asked a voice so much like Brynwulf's, yet hollower, that all three swung around.

Two ghostly forms stood behind them. Bluish-white and transparent, there could be no doubt in Petra's mind that these were shades of Nightingales past. Her suspicions were confirmed when both Bryn and Karliah cried out in recognition.

"Deirdre!" they both exclaimed, as the female ghost glided forward to hug the corporeal form of her mother.

"And Brynjolf!" Karliah laughed, tears in her eyes, hugging him as well. Petra thought that was strange. She'd have thought Karliah's arms would have gone right through the forms of the late Nightingales.

"Mother!" Deirdre cried happily. "I wasn't sure I'd get to see you so soon!"

"You're lookin' well, lad," Brynjolf grinned at his descendant. "How many years has it been?"

"Too many, I've been told, GranDa," Brynwulf grimaced back. "But probably close to six since I last saw you here."

"And who's this?" the older Bryn smiled, turning to Petra.

His great-grandson introduced her, saying, "This is my promising new protégée, Petra."

"What are you both doing here?" Karliah asked in wonder.

"We were told to stay out here, at the entrance to the Ebonmere," Deirdre said somberly.

"By Nocturnal?" Brynwulf asked. Deirdre nodded.

"She didn't explain why, you know her," the younger Dunmer said. "She only told us that as the last two Nightingales to perish, we would serve her best by guarding the entrance to the Ebonmere at the Sepulcher."

"Wasn't long after that we lost contact with her," Brynjolf said. "I wanted to go and look for her, but Deirdre insisted we stay out here as ordered."

"We had a duty to serve her in whatever way she chose, Da," Deirdre reminded her father. "She hinted all was not well, and that we were needed out here."

"I know, Lass," he said. "But it chafes not knowin' what's goin' on."

"We can give you some idea," Karliah said, and quickly filled them in on what they knew.

Brynjolf slumped down on the edge of the Ebonmere.

"I knew it!" he muttered. "I just knew something wasn't right. The Key was still here and everything, but we couldn't _feel_ her."

"Now we know why she kept us out here," Deirdre said. "It makes sense now."

"What does?" Petra asked.

"Hello again, young Petra!" Deirdre smiled. "My, you're becoming quite the asset to the Guild, aren't you?" Petra did her best not to blush behind her cowl, but wasn't sure she managed it. "Anyway, it makes sense to me now why Nocturnal kept Brynjolf and I out here."

"You're gonna have to explain that one, lass," Brynwulf said.

"If Nocturnal is unable to extend her influence from the Evergloam through the conduit that is the Ebonmere, then your physical forms cannot pass through," Deirdre said, as if that explained everything.

"Did Nocturnal tell you that?" Karliah asked, suspiciously.

"No, Mother," her daughter shook her head. "But I read something while I was still alive from some scholar or other who'd written a study on the planes of Oblivion. It almost sounded as though he'd been there. Even the Daedric Prince Hermaeous Mora's realm is really only accessible through those Black Books of his that the Dragonborn had to read in order to get there, and the Books don't actually take your physical form, but rather your spirit."

"So we're stuck here," Petra said, discouraged. "You're saying the only way to get to the Evergloam is to die, and I'm not even a full-fledged Nightingale yet."

"There might be a way around that," Brynjolf said, considering. "We could extend our ectoplasm to cover you. It might be enough to get you through the portal."

"You mean you have to cover me in goo?" Petra exclaimed, wrinkling her nose.

"I'm not made of chocolate, lass," Brynjolf grinned at her. "Or I'd suggest that. It might be more fun, but far less effective."

Petra blushed bright red, and was glad her cowl hid most of it.

"If you think that's the only way, Brynjolf," Karliah said doubtfully. "It seems like…cheating, somehow."

The former Guild Master, and father of her daughter quirked a grin at her. "We're thieves, Lass, remember? It's what we do."

_Wrong,_ Petra thought, several moments later. _This place is just wrong!_ She couldn't tell if they were walking on soft ground or spongy clouds, but there was no light here, whatsoever, except a dim, purplish glow that seemed to emanate from some point off to their left.

By mutual consent, Brynjolf and Deirdre had stayed behind. "We were told to guard the Sepulcher," Deirdre explained. "We would love to go with you, but orders are orders."

So they covered the three current Nightingales in ectoplasm and wished them luck as they jumped into the Ebonmere. Thankfully, as far as Petra was concerned, the ectoplasm remained behind, stripped off them in the Ebonmere on the way here.

"That's where we need to go," Karliah murmured now, keeping her voice low. "The Crow's Wood should lead us to Shade Perilous, Nocturnal's stronghold. If she's still here, that's where we'll find her."

"What's the Crow's Wood, lass?" Brynwulf asked, also whispering, though he didn't know why, it just seemed the thing to do here.

"It's a pocket realm inside the Evergloam," Karliah explained, "just like Shade Perilous. I've never been here before, but Gallus told me about his one experience here, decades ago. Nocturnal's crows live there. If we're lucky, they'll be friendly enough to help us."

"And if we're not?" Petra breathed the question that occurred to Brynwulf as well.

"Let's not dwell on that," Karliah said. "We should keep moving, and stay as quiet as we can."

They reached the Crow's Wood and had progressed quite a way through the purplish terrain when they were suddenly attacked; not by crows, but by some of the largest wolves Petra had ever seen.

"Dire wolves!" Karliah cried. "Stick together, back to back!"

In a loose triangle formation, the three Nightingales turned their backs on each other to face outward toward the half-dozen dire wolves that attempted to grab, trip or bite them. Karliah had her bow out while Bryn laid about him with his ebony sword. Petra used her two Elven daggers to devastating effect, but the wolves were _huge_ and the small blades didn't do as much damage to them as she'd hoped. In a moment of respite when two of the wolves lay dead and the other four had pulled back to regroup, Bryn handed her several small bottles of poison.

"Use these, lass," he gritted. "And don't you have anything better than those toothpicks?"

"Just my bow," she said, breathing hard. "But I've only got a few glass arrows the Big Guy gave me. The rest are just steel."

"Here," said Karliah, handing her a thick handful of black arrows. "These are ebony. Two dozen. Make them count."

"Here they come!" Bryn warned, and with her new arrows and the poisons, Petra felt better able to deal out at least as much damage and Bryn and Karliah were able to do.

Soon it was over, and Bryn shook his head. "I've either got to pay you more, or give you better equipment," he said wryly.

"I like the idea of better pay," Petra quipped.

"Sure you do," he said laconically. "But would you spend the extra money on better equipment?"

"We need to keep moving," Karliah said, breaking in.

The other two sobered up and followed her lead through the woods. The path twisted and turned, and at some points almost seemed to be leading out before looping back on itself.

"I'm confused," Petra complained. "Didn't we come this way?"

"I thought so too," Bryn said. "Karliah, are ye sure ye're leading us the right way?"

"I'm sure, Bryn," she replied. "I made Gallus tell me the story several times, in case I ever needed to come here."

Karliah proved correct, as the path finally opened into a rather large clearing. At the far end was a rude structure, little more than a shack.

"Wait here," the Dunmer Nightingale whispered. "Don't come until I call you."

"Karliah, what—" Brynwulf began, but she was already striding across the clearing, weapons sheathed and raising both hands to shoulder level, closing them into fists, and crossing her arms across her chest, fists on opposite shoulders.

"Who dares approach?" a vaguely feminine voice harshly hissed. Bryn and Petra gasped to see a large Hagraven step out of the shack. The two had never seen one before, but while Petra was completely taken aback, Bryn had at least heard tales of them, though he'd never been to the Reach.

"Nightingale Karliah, Crow Mother," the Dunmer replied softly, introducing herself. "I come in peace to ask your aid. We seek to find out what has happened to Nocturnal."

A sudden flurry of feathers and the squawking of many voices resounded from the tree branches above them, as several hundred ravens took wing and began flying around the clearing. Karliah was almost hidden from view, and Bryn went for his sword, until Petra pulled him back.

"Wait and watch!" she hissed. "They aren't hurting her. I think they're just upset."

Indeed, the caws sounded very much like crying, and above the cacophony, the Crow Mother called out, "Silence, children!" The birds settled back on their branches and only the occasional muffled sob could be heard.

"I have been tricked before, Nightingale," the Crow Mother said suspiciously. "If you _are_ a Nightingale," she continued. "You could have stolen that armor and found your way to the Ebonmere. I would need more than just your say-so that you are who you claim to be."

Karliah stood helplessly, unable to think of a reply. Bryn and Petra, in the shadows at the edge of the clearing, loosened their weapons in preparation to rush to Karliah's defense, if needed.

"I vouch for her, Crow Mother," said an unfamiliar voice. At least, it was unfamiliar to the two hiding in the bushes. Karliah spun around, and though most of her face was hidden, her eyes widened in glad recognition.

"_Gallus!"_ she breathed. "I can't believe you're really here!"

"Who?" Petra whispered.

"Former Guild Master before Mercer Frey," Bryn muttered.

"Oh," Petra said. Then her eyes widened in shock as she remembered the story. "Oh!" she exclaimed.

"You speak for this one, then, Nightingale Gallus?" the Crow Mother demanded.

"I do," he answered back steadily. "Karliah is one of the best Nightingales there has ever been."

"Then I will accept her presence here on your word," the crone said, and the two thieves hiding in the shrubbery breathed a soft sigh of relief.

"You come at a dark time indeed, Nightingale Karliah," the Hagraven continued in a mournful tone. "The great Mother is a prisoner in her stronghold at Shade Perilous. We cannot see her or sense her. Something has bound her there."

"Is she dead?" Karliah's voice behind her cowl faltered.

"No," Gallus answered, and Bryn and Petra felt relief sweep over them again. "But she is being held by dark forces, stronger than I've ever felt before."

The Crow Mother looked over to where the other two Nightingales lay hiding. "You are not alone, Nightingale Karliah. Who are these others whom you have brought here?"

"Uh oh, game's up," Bryn muttered.

"They are the other two-thirds of the Trinity, Crow Mother," Karliah said. "Brynwulf. Petra. You may come out now. The Crow Mother will not harm us."

"Yet," murmured Bryn dubiously.

They rose and walked toward Karliah and Gallus, and the Hagraven studied them curiously.

"Hmmm…" she said. "This one," she indicated Petra. "She is not a full Nightingale."

"Not yet," Karliah said, putting a hand on Petra's arm to keep her from speaking. "She has given me her Oath, and once we find Nocturnal, that Oath can be confirmed."

The Crow Mother stepped over to Petra, clawed feet clacking alarmingly on the stone floor of the clearing. She peered searchingly at the little blonde thief with eyes of solid black.

"You are young to make such a commitment to the great Mother," the Hagraven said. "Tell me your name, child. Do not be afraid." She cackled. "I will not bite you."

"I'm Petra," said the younger girl. "Nightingale Petra," she amended.

"Oh ho, _Nightingale_ Petra, is it?" the hag cackled again. "We shall see. Indeed we shall. And you?" she turned to Brynwulf. "Such a strong, handsome one this is! Oh, do not be so surprised," she grinned gleefully to his start of surprise. "I am the Crow Mother. I do not need to see the face behind the cowl to know what you look like!"

Bryn kept silent, which was unusual for him, and probably for the best.

"It is a good thing for you I am no longer interested in pleasures of the flesh," the Crow Mother chuckled. "Or I might take you to my bed. As it is, I have many, many children already." She indicated the murder of crows still jockeying for position in the trees around them.

Bryn felt slightly sick at the prospect, but schooled himself not to let that show.

"So, Nightingale Karliah," the Hagraven turned back to the Dunmer thief. "What is it you want from me?"

"As much information as you can give me about what's going on in Shade Perilous," was the reply.

The Crow Mother nodded. "Then you'd best come inside while I fix some tea. We have much to discuss."

"It's hopeless," Brynwulf muttered. "We'll never be able to get Nocturnal free if Melek Taus has that many of his minions there."

"There _has_ to be a way, Bryn," Karliah said, though she couldn't keep the note of despair from her voice.

"How can we fight that many Dremora?" Petra asked despondently.

Gallus turned to the Crow Mother. "You're absolutely certain about this?" he asked.

"Do not doubt the intelligence of my children," the Hagraven sniffed, stroking the raven sitting on her shoulder. The bird appeared to be ancient, the feathers around its eyes going white, giving it a starey-eyed look. "It is not for nothing the great Mother chooses them as her favorites. The information they have given me is true. Shade Perilous is guarded at the gates by no less than a dozen Dremora. There are at least twice that many inside, perhaps more. And then there will be an aspect of your Enemy there, as well."

"An aspect?" Petra queried. "I thought he'd be there in the flesh, so to speak."

"No," the Crow Mother told her. "He is a powerful, Aedra-like being, but weakened, since he is not from this realm. Once he has the power of the hearts of enough of the Daedric Princes to bring himself through to this world, he will be impossible to defeat. But because there are so many Daedric Princes in Nirn, he must divide his attention, his very existence, between them, which makes him particularly vulnerable at this point."

"We stopped him from capturing Sanguine," Petra said. "What's to stop him from trying again?"

The Hagraven leaned her head slightly toward the raven sitting on her shoulder and listened as it muttered, clacked its beak and cawed softly at her. "Ah, yes, I see," she replied. Turning to her guests, she answered Petra directly. "One of your party killed a man there named Ragnvald, is it not so?"

Petra nodded. "Yeah, Sanguine did that himself."

"That body was the vessel for your Enemy's spirit, split off from him to capture the Prince of Debauchery. When the body was destroyed, so was that splinter of your Enemy's aspect."

"So what does that mean?" Brynwulf demanded.

"It means, handsome lad, that you've already managed to make it more difficult for your Enemy to succeed," the Crow Mother told him. "But – and this is important – he does not need to capture _all_ the Daedric Princes; only a majority of them."

Petra was alarmed. "Sanguine told us some of the Princes were already missing! He could already be planning to bring himself through!"

"How many Princes?" Gallus asked. "Which ones?"

"Four that we know of," Petra told him. "Boethiah, Merunes Dagon, Mephala and Molag Bal."

Gallus' eyes narrowed. "Hmmm. Well, that's not a majority, but he's certainly got a head start. There are sixteen Daedric Princes, if I recall correctly; Melek Taus has four captive, we know not where. You and your friends prevented him from acquiring a fifth. He will still need at least five more to succeed. The problem is that we can't just fight our way through the main gate. You three would be killed immediately, and I…" He hesitated. "I would probably be snuffed out of existence."

"Gallus, no!" Karliah cried.

"Isn't there a back way in?" Petra asked gloomily. "We're thieves, aren't we? Nocturnal's our patroness. You'd think she'd give us a back door the Enemy wouldn't know about."

Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. The Crow Mother began to smile, which would have been unnerving if the other four weren't already comfortable in her presence.

"I see now why you chose this one, Nightingale Karliah," she approved.

"Petra, that's brilliant!" Karliah smiled.

"It's a good idea, lass, if it's true," Brynwulf nodded.

"I'll go find out," Gallus said. "You three should stay here."

Karliah immediately frowned. "Gallus, no, it's dangerous! You shouldn't go alone."

"You three are still living," he reminded her gently. "It would be like sending up a beacon. One more shade circling around the stronghold won't make much difference."

"Wait," Bryn said. "There are other ghosts there?"

"Indeed," Gallus confirmed. "Some of the former Nightingales tried to rush to Nocturnal's defense when the Enemy first invaded, but were trapped inside. I—I don't know what became of them," he said sadly. "But they never came back out. The rest of us have been waiting outside, but have not been able to agree on what to do. I decided to take matters into my own hands and make for the Twilight Sepulcher to see if I could get help from Brynjolf and Deirdre."

"They were told by Nocturnal to wait there," Petra said. "I don't think they'll come."

"They will come," Gallus seemed confident. "Perhaps they were only waiting for the living Nightingales to arrive. Let me see what I can learn at Shade Perilous, and then I'll collect Deirdre and Brynjolf. I think we're going to need all the help we can get."

It was a long time before Gallus returned. The three living Nightingales ate, slept and ate again before he came back, jubilant expression on his face, and with Brynjolf and Deirdre in tow.

"The troops have arrived," Brynjolf grinned. "Gallus told us what's been goin' on.

"We agreed with him that there wouldn't be a need for us to remain outside, once we got you through the Ebonmere," Deirdre said, in the same quiet way as her mother.

"That's all well and good," Brynwulf said, "but it's not going t' do us a bit o' good if we can't get into Shade Perilous."

"Patience, young Bryn," Gallus soothed. "It seems your young protégée was correct. There is indeed a 'back way in' that none of us knew about. We can thank the Crow Mother's children for finding it for us."

The ancient raven with the white eye-feathers cawed and strutted proudly on the table. The Crow Mother smiled.

"Belnax says you're welcome," she acknowledged, her mouth splitting into that horrible rendition of a smile. "And now that you have the information you seek, you must act on it immediately. Belnax and my other children will cause a distraction, to give you time to get inside unseen. After that, you will be on your own."

She paused, and an almost human look came over her face. "Save her, if you can," she pleaded. "Save the Night Mistress."

It all worked according to plan, for which more than one of the little group sent up a prayer of thanksgiving to whichever Aedra might be listening. Clearly, until they freed their Patroness, they couldn't count on her to answer them.

The ravens gathered above Shade Perilous in groups of two and three and six and nine, little by little, doing nothing more than circle just out of bowshot or range of fireballs. They swooped and dived, rose on currents unseen, unfelt, until at some unknown signal, they suddenly began to dive-bomb the Dremora at the gates, keeping them occupied while the Nightingales slipped through the shadows to a far corner of the stronghold, away from prying eyes.

A small band of spirits waited for them, Gallus having alerted them earlier.

The rushing noise of feathered wings, the squawk of caws, the _boom_ of exploding Destruction magic, reached even here, and told the infiltrators they had very little time to get inside.

"This way," Gallus hissed. "See the stone that protrudes, there?"

"It looks just like the others along the wall," Brynwulf said sourly.

"Push down on it," Gallus told him.

Bryn the Younger did as instructed, and a small section of the wall, barely wide enough for a man in armor to squeeze through, open and slid to one side.

"We must hurry," Gallus urged. "It will only stay open for a short time before it closes again."

They followed the former Guild Master and Nightingale through and waited in the passage beyond.

"Wait!" Petra whispered. "The others didn't make it through!"

Sure enough, the door had closed up, giving no indication of any way to open it from this side. Only the three living Nightingales, plus Gallus, Brynjolf and Deirdre had made it through.

"Don't worry about them," Gallus said. "They have their instructions. They are to add to the distraction at the main gate. They'll catch up to us later, if we're successful."

"And if we're not?" Brynwulf muttered.

"Then we will have died in the service of Nocturnal," Gallus snapped, and that shut Brynwulf up.

The interior corridors of Shade Perilous were a nightmare of twists and turns that would have made Shalidor's Maze in Labyrinthian look like a sobriety test. Several times they had to stop, turn around, and head back out of a dead end. It was frustrating beyond belief, and tempers were getting a bit frayed.

"Not another one!" Petra complained, as they faced yet another series of twisting passages.

"It's not supposed to be easy, young one," Karliah said tersely, though she too was getting tired of the mind-boggling mazes.

"I think the Pilgrim's Passage was easier than this," Brynjolf said sourly. "This is just mind-numbing."

"Courage, Da," Deirdre said. "I think we may be coming to the end of it."

Sure enough, the twisting tunnel ended in a long, straight passage flanked on either side with smooth stone and sconces that gave off an eerie purplish light.

Creeping along, not a sound among them, the little company headed for the only door at the end of the corridor. It was secured with a master-level lock.

"We can't affect it," Deirdre said, almost apologetically. "We have no real substance."

Convenient, Petra thought, seeing that she was able to hug her mother.

"I'll get it," Brynwulf said. Of the three living Nightingales, he was probably better at lockpicking than the others; Karliah had spent the last ten years of her life sequestered at Nightingale Hall, caring for Wylandriah, and her skills had gotten a bit rusty.

It was the work of a moment for Bryn the Younger to pick the lock, but the door still wouldn't open.

"What's wrong with this thing?" he growled, twisting the handle as quietly as he could.

"Let me take a look," Karliah said, and he moved aside to give her room. Holding out her hands, she muttered something under her breath, and her hands began to glow.

"It's magically locked as well," she said finally.

"I didn't know you could do that!" Brynwulf exclaimed.

"There's a lot you don't know about her, lad," his grandsire chuckled proudly.

"The problem is, I don't know how to undo it," Karliah admitted. "I know a little magic, but not like this."

Petra felt her heart drop. "So we're stuck here?" she asked.

"No," Deirdre said. "I think I can get this. It's been a long time, though, since I've used magic."

"I thought you said you couldn't affect it," Brynwulf demanded.

"I couldn't affect it _physically_, Cousin," Deirdre said. "I didn't realize it would be magically locked. _That_ I think I can handle."

The younger Dunmer closed her eyes and channeled her magicka into a quick, short burst, aimed directly at the lock which _snicked_ open.

"Brace yourselves, lads and lasses," Brynjolf muttered. "We don't know what's on the other side."

Brynwulf eased the door open and peeked through, but couldn't see much through the narrow slit.

"No help for it, Bryn," Karliah murmured. "Let's get in there and face whatever comes."

He nodded and muttered back, "It's been an honor to serve among you all." His eyes held Petra's a moment longer than was strictly necessary, and the little blonde thief wondered briefly what that was all about.

Brynwulf opened the door and they slipped silently into the room.

The first thing Petra saw was Nocturnal, looking very much like her statue in the Ragged Flagon Cistern. But the reality was that _this_ Nocturnal was chained in a manner similar to Sanguine, held to the floor, though floating above it. Her face was pensive and quiet, and while she looked oblivious to everything going on around her, Petra had a feeling she was more aware than she let on.

What was going on around her was an orgy of debauchery; Dremora were either raping, torturing or eating the shades of past Nightingales, the screams that filled the air setting Petra's teeth on edge and nauseating her.

"Steady lass," Brynwulf whispered in her ear.

"We need to get her free," Karliah hissed, horrified. Deirdre was too shocked to speak, and her father and cousin merely nodded agreement.

"Those won't be regular locks," Petra murmured, her voice unsteady. "The Enemy had to use magical locks on Sanguine."

"I'm on it, then," Deirdre said. "Just keep those Dremora off me."

"Be careful, love," Brynjolf said. "For Nocturnal!" He drew his sword.

"For Nocturnal!" Gallus cried, unsheathing his own, and Brynwulf and Karliah drew their bows. They all advanced on the scene, taking the minions of the Enemy by surprise.

Petra hung back, scanning the room. There were eight Dremora present, and five Nightingales, two of whom numbered among the living. Petra could have added herself to that number, but she'd seen something across the room that mattered more: an aspect of Melek Taus, sitting on a throne on a raised dais to their left. As the Nightingales poured into the room to rescue Nocturnal, they entered from Melek Taus' right hand side, and from behind him, completely unseen until they were right in front of him.

Petra surveyed the stonework. Not too smooth, but not very rough, either. Still, enough handholds to give her a grip. She hauled herself up the wall that made up part of the dais upon which Melek Taus' aspect rested, working as quickly and as quietly as she could.

Melek Taus, in the meantime, had risen to his hooved feet, ordering his Dremora to "Kill the invaders! Destroy them utterly! Feast on the flesh of the living!"

The Dremora did not reckon with five fully trained and vengeful Nightingales, however. Karliah's bow hummed with deadly accuracy, and Brynwulf's aim was no less keen. Gallus and Brynjolf dual-wielded their blades like whirlwinds of destruction, slicing through flesh and bone, pausing only a moment here and there to sprint to the next target, drawing fire from the minions and keeping it off Deirdre, who was working on getting the magical locks open which bound Nocturnal.

Petra crept along the wall until she was just above Melek Taus, who was still roaring at his minions.

"Kill the males," he ordered them. "Subdue the females. I will pleasure myself with them before I give them to you."

"Not this time," Petra muttered, preparing her daggers. "Not my friends. For Nocturnal!" she cried, dropping down directly onto Melek Taus' back, sinking her moonstone blades deeply between his shoulders, right up to their hilts.

Three things happened at once:

A Dremora came up behind Karliah with her back turned and struck her down. She lay there unmoving, the side of her head caved in as a pool of blood spread out around her. Brynjolf cried out, _"NO!"_ while Gallus sighed and seemed to accept the inevitable.

Deirdre managed to dispel the magic on the locks, popping them open and freeing Nocturnal. She quickly ran to her mother's side and reached down to take the older Dunmer's hand. A ghostly form of Karliah sat up, looked around and down at herself, then slumped a bit, as if accepting the judgment.

Melek Taus roared in agony, grabbed Petra off his back and slashed at her with his clawed hands. And while the damage she'd done to him was considerable, it was the lethal bolt of black energy the now-freed Daedric Mistress of Darkness leveled at him that caused him to suddenly burst into flames, exploding into a huge fireball, flinging Petra, scorched, bleeding and unconscious, to the far side of the chamber.

"_PETRA!" _Brynwulf howled. Fear, anger and desperation drove him as he laid into the Dremora facing him, cutting it to ribbons before rushing over to where Petra lay sprawled. Crouching down, he gently pulled back her cowl. Bad. It looked bad, and he was no healer. Petra was bleeding from several gashes and scorched all over, but it didn't seem life-threatening. Her armor had protected her and taken the worse of it. It was the darkening bruise at her temple that worried Bryn the most.

"Petra?" he called softly. "Lass? Wake up!" No response.

The others gathered around him, the last of the Dremora dispatched, the spirits of Nightingales past freed from torture, and Nocturnal herself restored to her full power.

Brynwulf turned to his patron Daedra. "Nocturnal, please help her!"

"Why should I?" the Mistress of Shadows replied coldly. "Why should I extend the terms of her contract? Besides, I'm no healer."

"Terms of—my Lady, this is her life we're talking about! And besides, she's not a full Nightingale, so the terms haven't been agreed upon!"

"Did I stutter, Brynwulf?" Nocturnal demanded. "Petra knew the risks she was taking when she accepted the Nightingale armor. That is as binding a contract as if I were present, or she wouldn't have received it. She will serve me as Nightingale, in this life and the next."

"But not yet!" Bryn cried. "I can't lose her now!"

"You never had her," the Daedric Prince replied, her voice as unemotional as ever. "You never said anything to her about any…tender feelings you may have had. She is none the wiser."

In desperation Bryn turned to Karliah, Gallus, Brynjolf and Deirdre. Each shook their heads in sorrow. It was Karliah who spoke. "I'm sorry, Brynwulf. We can't help you. We are of the spirit world."

"But I love her," Bryn whispered. "Gods help me, I love her."

"Ah, love," Nocturnal said dismissively. "That has been the downfall of several Nightingales before you. I would have thought you'd have learned that lesson by now."

Several things went through Brynwulf's mind at once: they had defeated Melek Taus' aspect here in the Ebonmere, so Nocturnal was safe from further attempts; Petra wasn't dead, but from the growing bruise on her head she soon would be if he didn't get her back to Alorra in time; Karliah had said they were of the spirit world now, her, Deirdre, Gallus and his ancestor Brynjolf. The spirits of Nightingales past influenced the luck of those still living. He gathered Petra up in his arms, praying the conduit from the Ebonmere to the Twilight Sepulcher would still be open; from there he could get back to Nightingale Hall where Alorra and Argis waited with Wylandriah.

He stood with Petra in his arms, realizing for the first time how small and vulnerable she seemed, for all that she was one of the bravest women he'd ever known. He turned to Brynjolf. "Take me back, GranDa," he said. "Take me back quickly!"

"Follow me, lad," the ghost of Brynjolf said, heading across the hall to an inky tunnel on the far side; a tunnel that hopefully led to the conduit. He didn't even ask permission of the Daedric Prince he served.

"You're only prolonging the inevitable," Nocturnal called after them. "You both belong to me, remember that."

Brynwulf stopped and turned back to face his patron. "I never forgot it, my Lady," he said solemnly. "But for right now, and for as long as possible, I want her with _me_!" He spun on his heel and hurried after his ancestor.

Nocturnal gazed after them, lost in thought, before turning to her four Guardians. "I suppose you'll want to go after them." It was a statement, rather than a question.

They looked at each other uncertainly, then back to the goddess.

"Well, hurry along," the Mistress of Shadows snapped. "Just be quick about it and get back here as soon as you can. You still have a long time left to serve on your contracts."

The three didn't hesitate, rushing after their companions.

Nocturnal ascended the steps to her reclaimed throne and sat down, heaving a long sigh. "I must be getting soft in my old age," she muttered to no one in particular.

[Author's Note: I really _am_ sorry about Karliah. She was always one of my favorites in the game. But for the context of my story she has served her purpose, and at least now she gets to be with Gallus again. I wanted to keep the inclusion of canon characters to a minimum, but darned if they don't have a way of insinuating themselves into the story!]


	17. Chapter 16

Deum Occidere

Chapter 16

[**A.N.: **Back to Alorra and Argis, to find out what they've been up to, waiting for Petra and the others to return. See end of Chapter for more Notes.]

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Alorra worried, as the three Nightingales vanished into the portal that would take them to the Twilight Sepulcher. Alorra had played the quest before, of course, but this was no longer a game. It was very real, the Sepulcher was a dangerous place, and she worried about Petra's choice.

"They'll be okay," Argis assured her. "They know what they're doing, and they know what's at stake."

"I know, but Petra—"

"The Pipsqueak will be fine," he insisted. "The others will have her back, and she'll have theirs. We should get back to Wylandriah and see if there's anything you can do for her."

Alorra nodded. "You're right," she admitted. "I guess I'm just being 'little mother' again." She smiled to take the sting out of the words.

"Hey," he said, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "I'm glad you worry about us all. It means you care. I'm sorry if my words hurt you. I didn't mean for them to."

"I know," Alorra said soberly. "But you were right. I do tend to be a bit too maternal. It was another lesson I needed to learn over several lifetimes, and one I'm glad I did. But I also need to learn to back off sometimes and let people do what they do best on their own."

"Like the Pipsqueak," the big Nord said. Alorra nodded.

"I don't exactly like the idea that she's taken to a life of crime, but it's given her skills that have helped us enormously. And maybe my Superior knew that."

"Think she'll stop once this is over?" Argis asked.

Alorra gave a low chuckle. "I sincerely doubt it!" she replied.

Wylandriah sat where they'd left her, staring into space. Alorra went over and touched the other woman's arm.

"Wylandriah?" she called softly. "We're back." No response. Alorra gave a sad sigh.

"You can help her, can't you?" Argis asked. "I've seen you do some pretty incredible things since we met."

"I think I can," Alorra said slowly.

"But-?"

"But this is _Wylandriah,_" Alorra insisted.

"So?"

"You don't understand, Argis," the red-haired girl sighed again. "I _knew_ her, or at least, the facsimile of her."

Argis frowned. "I don't get it."

"It goes back to the game," Alorra explained sorrowfully. "Niranye, Karliah, Wylandriah…they're all elves. They live a long, long time if nothing happens to them. Even so, I was surprised to find Niranye in Windhelm, and it brought it home to me that I really _am_ in the realm of Nirn. In the game, they were simply characters I could encounter and interact with, but they had scripted lines that the game wouldn't allow them to go beyond. And there were only certain scripted lines I could ask them. Here, they have their own thoughts, feelings, needs and desires. I guess is what I'm trying to say is, what if I can't help Wylandriah? What if I've set you and Petra and everyone else on a collision course with disaster?"

"You're afraid you'll fail, like you said you did once before." Argis said keenly.

She nodded. "I was so enthralled at being sent to Nirn, at being _inside_ the game, that I didn't really accept the fact that I could _die_ here, Argis."

He shuddered and prayed secretly to the Nine that that wouldn't happen.

"When we were going through the Ratway," she continued, "I realized that it might not be the minions of Melek Taus that take me out. I could die just as easily from a skeever bite, or a dragon attack."

"Look," he said seriously, "I've got your back. You know what that means, don't you? Concentrate on what _you_ need to do, and let me and the Pipsqueak and the others keep you alive long enough to do it. If you start worrying about every little thing that could hurt you, you'll become so frozen with fear that when it comes down to the real fight, you won't have the confidence in yourself to do what needs to be done."

_Thank you for sending me such a wonderful man!_ she sent up, and smiled at her companion. "Alright," she smiled. "I'll try. Now, let me see what I can do for Wylandriah."

Alorra closed her eyes and concentrated on Wylandriah's physical form, seeking beneath the skin to see if there was any physical anomaly causing the Bosmer woman's catatonia. There was none, but she honestly didn't expect to find anything. After several minutes, she opened her eyes.

"Well?" Argis asked.

"The problem she's experiencing isn't physical," Alorra said. "I knew that, but I had to rule it out. She's a very healthy wood elf, and still relatively young."

"So what now?" the sandy-haired Nord asked.

Alorra blew out a sigh. "I'm going to have to get inside her mind," she announced. "If she'll let me; if the Enemy hasn't set up something to prevent me." She grimaced. "But it means I'm going to be very vulnerable."

"What are you saying?" Argis rumbled. "I don't think I'm gonna like what I'm gonna hear."

Alorra gave a mirthless snort. "I can almost guarantee you won't," she said. "I need to send my consciousness into Wylandriah's mind, to find her and bring her back. But that means I won't be aware of anything going on around me. I'll be virtually helpless, and I won't be able to respond to anything outside my body until my mind returns."

Argis considered this. "What if you get lost in Wylandriah's mind?" he asked, worried.

"Let's not think about that," Alorra said firmly, refusing to consider that possibility. She knew it could happen, and the thought terrified her, but this was the only way she knew that stood a chance of bringing the Bosmer mage back to herself. "Just stand watch and protect us, okay?" she asked, staring hard at the man until he finally jerked his head in assent.

"The only way in here is through the portal the others took, or through the front door," he mused. "Since I don't think anything hostile is going to come through the portal, I'll stand watch at the mouth of the tunnel. If we are attacked, they'll only be able to come at me one at a time."

"Alright, Argis," Alorra said, trying hard not to show the worry she felt. The whole business of making herself so vulnerable just to heal Wylandriah just screamed "trap" to her, and she was sure Argis thought the same, but was also making a point of ignoring the mammoth in the corner. "Be careful," she called as he left Wylandriah's quarters.

"You too," he said, then turned back and planted a kiss full on her mouth. "Come back to me," he whispered, then left the room.

The kiss actually settled the nervous flutter in her stomach. It told her she was loved, and she wrapped herself in the warmth of that glow. Turning back to Wylandriah, she pulled a smaller chair closer to the other woman and sat down, taking the mage's hands in her own, and closing her eyes.

Wylandriah was exhausted and so tired of fighting back. Just when she thought she could rest, the demons came at her again. She had retreated to the deepest part of her inner fortress, but they were still out there, waiting for her to emerge so they could launch another attack. Dimly she was aware of something happening far away, that involved mundane things like food, sleep and cleanliness, but she knew those were distractions she could not afford to deal with. Wherever her body had ended up, it was being looked after, and that gave her the assurance she needed to continue to fight this evil Entity attempting to take control of her mind.

The Bosmer was no fool, though she knew most thought she was. She knew she was inside her own mind, held prisoner here, unable to break free because of the minions of the evil Entity lurking just outside the core of her being. There were too many, and she couldn't fight them all at once. They overwhelmed her each time she made an attempt. The passage of time meant nothing in here, so she had no idea just exactly how long this had gone on.

All she knew for certain was that the evil Entity – the Enemy, as she thought of it – wanted to wipe out magic in Tamriel. She learned this soon after Winterhold fell and one by one the court mages across Skyrim were meeting with unfortunate "accidents". Sibylle Stentor was the first to warn her before leaving her position at Solitude.

Poor Sybille. One of the Dawnguard had tracked her to her new lair in Cyrodiil and had cut off her head while she slept. Wuunferth was already old when the Dragonborn first made his appearance in Skyrim, and had died of apparent old age not long after. Nenya was murdered in Falkreath by the Jarl's own son, and Nestor of Whiterun, Farengar's successor, had fallen victim to the Blade of Mephala that no one but the Jarl knew was hidden at Dragonsreach. After a series of murders traced to his doorstep, the Jarl had had him executed, and the Dragonborn himself, now an old man, had taken the blade to the top of the Throat of the World to be guarded by the master of the Greybeards.

As for the others, once they had grown old and died, they were never replaced. That left only her, Wylandriah, as the last remaining court mage in Skyrim.

Then the demons came.

At first it was just a glimpse of something moving in her peripheral vision; then a shadow flitting from one corner of the room to another; a growl from under a chest or behind a door. Then one would dart across a hall behind the Jarl, making a move to grab him. When Wylandriah called out a warning, the creature would meld into the stone floor or wooden wardrobe, and the Jarl would turn and find nothing.

But they were there. She'd seen them! And Jarl Zander had grown more and more irritated with her. The demons began popping up even in full daylight, and no one seemed able to see them but her. Finally, during an evening meal with his entire court, several made a move on Lysentius, Zander's young son, and in an effort to save the boy Wylandriah had fired off several rounds of Destruction magic. But the demons were faster than she'd ever seen anything move before, sinking into the stone here and popping up over there.

The next thing she knew, the guards were making a grab for her, and Jarl Zander was accusing her of attempted murder. Stricken, Wylandriah realized she had played right into the demons' hands and fled the Keep. With half the Riften guard on her tail, she'd dodged through the streets, cast Invisibility on herself, and finally, exhausted and out of her mind with fear, plagued by more demons calling out to the guards to point the way to her, she'd ended up in a quiet corner where she'd been left alone. She didn't remember very much after that. Two kind strangers had found her, she knew, and had taken her to a place of safety, but by that time, Wylandriah had already retreated to her mind's inner sanctum, finding demons there as well, attacking the very core of her being. She'd had to remain to keep fighting them off, or she would lose herself completely.

And then, after what had seemed an age, the voice came.

"_You poor woman, who would want you dead?"_

She didn't know the person speaking. Didn't know how it had reached her here, deep inside, but she had to make the effort to tell them the truth. She might not get another chance.

Flinging open the barrier around her core, she screamed out with all the force she could muster:

"_THE ENEMY!" _she cried. _"HE WANTS TO KILL ALL THE MAGES! HE WANTS TO KILL ALL THE MAGIC. HE WANTS TO TURN THE WORLD TO DARKNESS!"_

The demons rushed her, snapping and biting, scratching and clawing. Every hit drained her of her identity a little bit more. Wylandriah fought them off and retreated behind her barriers. Weakened yet again, she kept them up full force and rested. Whether she had been heard, she might never know, but it was all she could do.

Alorra found herself in a maelstrom of emotions that were not her own. Most of it was fear. There was an awful lot of fear surrounding her. Some hate, too, but not directed at her; at least, not yet. Underneath all of it was a profound sense of sadness and loneliness. There was very little love here.

The emotions billowed around her like fog, swirling, eddying. Sometimes they would rush at her, through her, past her, but most of the time they lay stagnant, as if nothing could ever sweep them away.

Somewhere in the morass she would find the spirit that was Wylandriah.

The attack came swiftly, from all around her. She recognized these creatures: demons, minions of the Enemy. Small, annoying, and mostly harmless if faced one at a time. But when they multiplied, fed by guilt, fear, hopelessness and despair, among other less desirable emotions, they became an overwhelming host to battle.

This was what was keeping Wylandriah trapped inside herself. The fog of negative emotions had so engorged the demons of her own mind that she was unable to face them alone. And indeed, she no longer knew how to fight them, giving in to their superiors numbers.

Alorra knew she needed to fight her way through them to get to the mage herself, to show her she was no longer alone.

Alorra stood still for a moment and allowed the creatures to crawl all over her. They didn't bite or scratch; they seemed to want to bring her to her knees with the burden of carrying them all. There wasn't a spot on her that wasn't covered when she thought of her Superior, and the Love that was shown to each and every one of the Souls touched by that august Being.

Incandescent Light shone through her, and the demons screeched and staggered away, those that could. Most were incinerated on the spot. There were more, however. Hundreds more. Thousands more. But they kept their distance from her now. As she walked along, a path opened through the mists, cleared of doubts and insecurities, and the demons backed away, unwilling to face the Light of Love shining from her.

She came upon the barrier at the center of the sanctum and knew Wylandriah would be here. The Light was fading, for it only lasted a little while and it would be a space of time before she could call upon it again. Had she been within her own mind, the Light would always be there, for she had experienced it for herself, many times. But Wylandriah did not follow Alorra's Superior; a different pantheon of Guardians watched over this realm, and here in Wylandriah's mind the Light would only last for a short time.

"Wylandriah!" she called. "Come out! My name is Alorra, and I'm here to help you!"

"Go away!" the Bosmer mage called out, and her voice sounded so tired. "No one can help me. No one believes me."

"I believe you," Alorra said, putting as much love into her voice as she could. Without realizing it, her Light began to brighten. "Come out and let me bring you back. We need your help to fight the Enemy!"

Silence. "Why should I trust you?" Wylandriah finally called back. "This is just another trick to get me to lower my defenses."

"Let me help you fight your demons," Alorra pleaded. "Together we can banish them completely."

Another long silence, and for a long moment Alorra was afraid Wylandriah had completely shut her out. Then slowly, the barriers came down, and the spirit that was Wylandriah cautiously approached.

"Who are you?" she asked, eyes darting nervously around.

"I'm Alorra," the other Soul said simply. "At least, that's the name I'm going by this time. I'm here to help you," she repeated.

"Why?"

It was a simple question, but a loaded one. The wrong answer would have Wylandriah scurrying back behind her barriers.

"Because you were right about the Enemy," she replied. "Because magic _is_ disappearing from Nirn, and if I can't stop him, he will turn this world into another Apocalypse." She shuddered at the memory of her greatest failure.

"You're an Agent!" Wylandriah breathed. "I didn't think they were real!"

"You know about us?" Alorra asked, surprised.

"I've done a lot of research in my time," Wylandriah said wryly, "and I've been to Apocrypha once or twice. I think I learned of your kind there."

"Then you know I can't lie; I always tell the truth," the younger girl said. She saw Hope flare in the Bosmer mage's eyes, and Wylandriah's own Light began to flicker and grow.

"Then let's go," the wood elf smiled. "I've spent too much time wallowing here when I should have been out there!"

Darkness suddenly surrounded them, shrinking both their Lights to twin pools that were really little more than puddles.

"_NOT THIS TIME, OUTWORLDER!"_ came that deep, sepulchral voice she'd heard once in Whiterun by the main gate, and again in Morvunskar when she'd freed Einar from the Enemy's grasp with Sanguine's help. _"THE WOOD ELF MAGE IS USELESS, AND SHE KNOWS IT. SHE CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER HER PROJECTS, AND SHE IS THE LAUGHING-STOCK OF THE MAGES' GUILD."_

Alorra watched, alarmed, as Wylandriah's Light faded, and she sank to her knees under this assault on her confidence.

"No! Fight back, Wylandriah!" she cried.

"I—I can't…" the wood elf whispered. "He's right. I'm…I'm pathetic." She lay down in the mists of doubt and curled herself up into a fetal position.

"I believe in you, Wylandriah!" Alorra told her. "The Enemy is wrong! He's afraid of you; afraid of what you know and afraid of what you can do."

"_I FEAR NOTHING," _the Enemy scoffed. _"IT IS YOU WHO SHOULD BE AFRAID, OUTWORLDER. ALREADY YOUR PHYSICAL SELF IS BEING THREATENED. YOUR PITIFUL BODYGUARD CANNOT HOPE TO STAND AGAINST MY MINIONS!"_

A thrill of fear so intense it was almost painful shot through Alorra's consciousness. If her body was destroyed she would be lost, a Soul adrift on the winds of time unless and until her Superior could reclaim her. But to abandon Wylandriah now would be a death sentence for the wood elf.

Helplessly she pulled the mage closer. "Try, Wylandriah," she begged. "You need to believe in yourself, then no one can make you doubt who you are."

"Can't…" the Bosmer whispered. "It's true, I'm useless."

"He's lying," Alorra insisted. And then it hit her. The Enemy was the Father of Lies, made all the more plausible because he fed on the doubts and fears everyone held within themselves. Wylandriah had spent most of her life at Mistveil Keep pretending to be a scatterbrain so others would leave her to pursue her experiments in peace. She'd kept up the façade for so long, she'd come to believe it herself.

And as for her physical body, she trusted Argis to keep her safe. The Enemy _wanted_ her to pull out now, rushing back to her own body, leaving Wylandriah defenseless against the internal onslaught. It wasn't going to happen.

"He lies," she told Wylandriah more firmly. "He is the Father of Lies. You are a wonderful, talented person. You are intelligent and wise, and you always gave your Jarls the best advice you could give them. Maybe some of them didn't appreciate that, but that's more a reflection on them than on you. Fools never appreciate the wonderful gifts they've been given, and you are a treasure, Wylandriah. You have so much to give, so much to share. And the Enemy knows this. There may not be a College at Winterhold any longer, but he's afraid you would be able to start a new College in Riften or Whiterun, or anywhere across Skyrim, and the young people would flock to you to receive training, because there's no one out there now who can guide them."

Alorra was practically babbling now, but she believed every word she spoke. The more she spoke, the more she realized this was exactly what the Enemy had feared, and rightfully. If anyone could reinstate the College of Mages, it would be Wylandriah.

"You can do this, Wylandriah!" she encouraged. "Fight back against the Enemy and take back your life. You are stronger and braver than you realize, and I have your back."

All the while she had been speaking, Wylandriah's emotions had gone from defeated to hopeful to supreme confidence.

"You're right," she said now, rising. There was a spark in her eyes, a determined look that told Alorra without words that Wylandriah had finally had enough. She turned outward, toward the darkness swirling around them.

"You are false!" she cried out. "You do not belong here in Tamriel! You do not belong to Nirn! Get out! Get out of my mind! Get out of my life! Get out of my world!"

A thunderous roar rose at her words, and the blackness crushed around them so completely that Alorra could no longer see Wylandriah, who had been standing right next to her. She flailed out and by a stroke of sheer luck caught the other woman's hand. Wylandriah gripped her fingers so tightly, Alorra could almost feel the pain, though there was no physical body here.

"I said _GET OUT!_" Wylandriah bellowed, in a voice Alorra would never have thought could come from such a slight woman. "_GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!"_

Power flared from her free hand, and Alorra responded by sending out her own banishing energy from the other side. The darkness shrieked and howled, psychic winds buffeting them, whipping their ethereal bodies, but the two women stood firm and pushed back until finally, with a _poof_ and a whimper, it was gone completely.

Both women slumped toward each other, half supporting and half being supported. There were tears in Wylandriah's eyes.

"Thank you, my friend," she whispered. "It has been so long since anyone believed in me!"

"I always will," Alorra smiled, hugging the Bosmer mage. "But now I have to withdraw. I'm afraid of what Argis may be facing on the outside."

"Go," Wylandriah said firmly. "I'll be right behind you. Whatever it is, we'll face it together!"

The attack, when it came, did not catch Argis unaware. Standing firmly at the mouth of the tunnel, he heard the slight scraping of boot leather on stone, the whispered rushing of robes, the creak of armor joints as the minions of the Enemy approached. What he couldn't tell, from all the echoes bouncing around, was just how many there were. Regardless, he planted himself at the tunnel's entrance, determined not to let a single one of them into the cavern.

That was easier said than done, as he saw the wall of ice billow his way.

"Aw, crap," he muttered, hoping his Nord blood would afford him some protection.

The biting cold didn't hurt as much as it could have, but he still felt frozen and sluggish, and his muscles protested as they contracted. Nevertheless, he swung the greatsword with the ease of long practice, and the two unfortunate brigands who had drawn the short straw to go first ended up in a bloody heap at his feet.

Bolts of ice shot out of the tunnel at him, though one missed, and he gritted his teeth and stood his ground, refusing to give in to his more barbaric inclinations to rush down the tunnel to meet his foes.

"It's what they want you to do," he told himself. "Stay here. Keep them out of the cavern. You're the last line of defense." He just hoped his Bright Eyes would finish what she had to do in time to lend a hand here.

Two more bandits came down the tunnel, and one had a bow that she used from a distance to snipe at him with Dwarven arrows.

"Gah!" Argis cried out, swinging the greatsword and meeting his opponent's shield. The block staggered him a bit, but he swiftly recovered and blocked a cleave headed straight for his head. He kicked out with his foot, hooking it around the overbalanced bandit and brought the man to his knees. From there it was a simple, short, downward thrust to finish him off.

The archer continued to pepper him with arrows, though, and Argis was beginning to feel like a pin cushion. He quickly downed a healing potion Bright Eyes had made for him, feeling the warmth rush through him, but he knew it wouldn't be enough.

A warping sound in front of him, and a purplish portal opened to reveal a large, icy behemoth with club-like fists.

"I hate these guys," he muttered. Dodging the first blow he swept low with the greatsword, attempting to take the atronach out at the knees, but the thing was made of solid ice, and while he did some damage, it didn't dispel the creature.

One frozen ham-fist caught Argis on the left shoulder, and he felt the arm go numb. Wielding the greatsword suddenly became more problematic. He shifted his grip and spun around in place, giving himself enough momentum to swing the heavy blade. It connected with the atronach and bit deeply into it, enough for it to suddenly evaporate as if it had never been. Argis' relief was short-lived, however, as the archer let fly with two more arrows in swift succession, which found their mark in his armor at the thigh and hip.

"G'nnnn" he grunted. "I've had enough of you!" Feeling was coming back into his left arm and he sheathed the greatsword, pulling out his bow and nocking it with a speed that was blinding. He fired two of his precious glass arrows, one after the other, and was gratified to see the archer go down.

Suddenly electricity coursed through him as a Lightning Bolt shot down the passage. The mage responsible ducked quickly back around a bend of the tunnel, and Argis had nothing to shoot at. He took the moment's respite to chug another potion, feeling some of the aches dissipate, and pulled out a couple of the arrows that had stuck in the dragonscale armor. Though they hadn't pierced all the way through, he knew there would probably have been some bruising, if he hadn't already consumed one of the healing potions.

The mage stepped out again to let fly with another spell, but Argis was ready and shot him down with another glass arrow.

There was silence for a long moment, but Argis wasn't fooled. They wouldn't give up so easily. They couldn't. Their master wouldn't let them. He was right.

A half-dozen warriors pounded down the corridor toward him, while behind them someone was chanting. The bodies at Argis' feet were getting up, and the hairs on the back of his neck raised also. Damned necromancers! As if killing your opponent once wasn't enough!

Having no choice, Argis retreated a few steps, but only a sword's length outside the entrance. He didn't want anyone slipping around behind him, but he needed room to fight.

And then he heard the warping sound behind him. Shooting a quick glance over his shoulder he felt his heart quail. A Flame Atronach. That was all he needed. A ball of flame shot past his head and hissed down the tunnel, exploding in the narrow confines and catching several of the enemy on fire. The screams were horrific, but Argis was a hardened mercenary, and right now it was a matter of him or them. The atronach was on his side, apparently, for which he was grateful, but he didn't know Bright Eyes knew how to conjure one, or that it was something she would do in the first place.

"Nice shot!" he called back, concentrating on the marauders attempting to flee the flames by bull-rushing past him.

"Thank you!" came an unfamiliar female voice, and he realized that it had to be Wylandriah. He cut down the two opponents in front of him and prepared to face the undead advancing on him, when a ripple of energy passed harmlessly through and beyond him. Harmless for him, at least. The effect on the raised bodies was stunning as they crumbled to ashes.

The look on the necromancer's face was almost comical, and Argis would have chuckled, except he needed to dodge the wave of ice headed straight toward him. Knowing the ladies had his back gave him the confidence to move out of harm's way without compromising their safety.

"Rhaemir!" Wylandriah exclaimed angrily. "You seven times a bastard! You turned my Jarl against me and took away everything I've worked for!"

Alorra look with surprise to see the alchemist's face under the hood.

"You're a doddering fool, Wylandriah," he sneered. "Your pathetic friends can't stop what's already happening. Melek Taus will cross over soon, and when he does, he will crush you under his cloven hooves and reward those who were loyal to him!"

"You're the fool if you believe that," Alorra said. "He can't give you what he doesn't have."

"Alorra," Wylandriah said calmly, "this is _my_ fight. I owe this two-bit conjurer for what he did to me. Come and face me in a mage's duel, Rhaemir," she shot back at him, "unless you think it's not fair of me to face down a mere apprentice-level Thalmor toady."

Rage suffused the necromancer's face. "I'm ten times the wizard you will ever be, you Bosmer bitch! We didn't burn enough of Valenwood centuries ago to eradicate all of your stinking race. But at least I can remedy part of that by killing you here today."

"Put up or shut up, Rhaemir," Wylandriah snapped. "Give it your best shot. Argis, Alorra, stay out of this. This sniveling bastard is _mine!"_

To the end of his days, Argis would never forget that fight. Spell after spell was cast, in every school of magic. Mage armor flashed as Destruction magic bounced off; wards were thrown up; atronachs were summoned. Alorra kept up a protective barrier between them while the two adversaries battled. Every time she thought Wylandriah would go down, Alorra noticed an amulet around the Bosmer's neck glow whenever a spell got through to her, and she seemed to rally. Finally, with one great, dual-cast Lightning Bolt from Wylandriah, the Altmer necromancer was flung across the room, his Frost Atronach dissipating. He lay in a crumpled heap against the stone wall of the cavern. Wylandriah sniffed and patted her hair back into place.

"Call _me_ a doddering fool, will you?" she scoffed. "I think _not!"_

Alorra let her barrier drop and ran to the wood elf, hugging her. "Wylandriah, you are amazing!"

"Good job," Argis approved, wincing a little as the elder mage hugged him.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"It's nothing," he protested, but Alorra immediately made him sit down so she could heal him.

Argis sighed as he felt the bruises fade and torn flesh mend back together. "Ahh…that feels better!"

A warping sound came from behind them and they turned to see Brynwulf leap through the portal from the Twilight Sepulcher with Petra in his arms. Behind him were three ghostly forms. By all that was Holy, was that _Karliah?_

"What happened?" Alorra asked, worry threatening to choke her.

"Petra's hurt bad," Brynwulf said shortly. "You have to help her!"

Without a word, Alorra gestured for him to bring the little blonde thief into the living quarters where they quickly found a bed on which to lay her. Quickly, Alorra went to work, not trusting herself to speak, while the others watched from the doorway.

"Wylandriah!" the ghostly form of Karliah exclaimed. "You're back!"

"Yes, thanks to your friend, there," she smiled, nodding to Alorra, who was still hunched over Petra's too-still form, pouring her magicka into healing spells. "I would still be a prisoner in my own mind if it wasn't for her. Now if you'll all clear out of here, I need to help her heal your young friend."

Reluctantly, the others retreated to the main cavern.

"Karliah," Argis began, sadness and confusion all over his face, "what happened? Are you really—"

"Dead," Karliah nodded, subdued. "I'm afraid so. I didn't see the blow coming. Had I been at full power as a Nightingale, he would never have gotten the drop on me."

"But what happened to Petra?" Argis insisted.

Karliah smiled. "You would be proud of her, Argis," she said. "Petra slipped behind Melek Taus himself and stabbed him in the back. She literally landed right on top of him!"

"Did _he_ do that to her?" he growled dangerously.

Karliah and Deirdre shook their heads. "No," Deirdre replied. "She got caught in the blast Nocturnal sent toward him, which took out the form he was using in the Ebonmere."

"So Nocturnal is—" he probed.

"Safe," Brynwulf confirmed. "For now." He didn't look happy about it, unable to keep his eyes from straying toward the living quarters.

For nearly a half hour they waited in silence, until Wylandriah returned and informed them all that Petra was out of danger, Alorra was still with her, Brynwulf should just stay put until he was needed, and would someone please explain to her what in Oblivion was going on?

As briefly as possible, Argis told her everything that had happened up to that point, to the best of his knowledge.

"So," Wylandriah mused, "I take it that neither of you, Karliah, nor Deirdre, were ghosts for most of the time I've been here?"

Mother and daughter looked at each other and shook their heads in unison. "No," Karliah answered her. "I lost Deirdre a little over a year ago. We'd both been taking care of you since we found you that night in the cemetery."

"I remember that night," Wylandriah said, eyes still haunted. "I couldn't get Jarl Zander to believe me, and when those demons just started popping up everywhere and threatening the boy, I had to do something!"

"Why did you hide in the cemetery?" Brynwulf asked.

Wylandriah just looked puzzled at such a question. "Why, it's sanctified, of course," she replied, as if everyone knew that. "The very ground itself is holy, dedicated to Arkay. I knew the demons couldn't reach me there, but I was afraid the guards might. And by the time I managed to get myself to the graveyard, the minions had already fed on my self-doubts, and were in my mind, attacking my confidence. I had to withdraw to protect myself."

"But you just said they couldn't reach you in the cemetery," the ghost of Brynjolf pointed out, from his position near the portal.

"The ones _outside_ my body couldn't," Wylandriah clarified. "The ones inside my mind were already there."

Brynjolf shook his head, not entirely convinced. "Karliah, Deirdre," he called gently. "It's time, lasses. We need to go back."

Sadly, they nodded. Karliah turned to Brynwulf. "Don't wait too long to choose another Nightingale, Bryn," she told him. "The Trinity needs to remain strong. I have every hope that Petra will pull through. You heard Nocturnal; her contract has been accepted. But you'll need a third."

"I've already got someone in mind," Brynwulf nodded, thinking of Danica. She'd make a good Nightingale.

"Farewell, then," Karliah said softly. "Walk with the shadows."

"Knowing you're there will make it easier," Brynwulf responded. "Good-bye, Karliah, and thanks for everything."

"Give my best to Alorra, will you?" she waved, then turned and followed her daughter and lover through the portal back to the Sepulcher and the Ebonmere.

It was several moments later when an exhausted Alorra returned to the group to inform them that Petra would pull through. Brynwulf immediately went to her side, and the other three tactfully gave them some time to themselves to say the things that needed to be said.

It was a subdued group that sat around the cookfire that evening, mulling over their next course of action. Wylandriah filled them in on everything she knew about the Enemy's actions.

"So, I didn't kill him after all," Petra frowned, looking disappointed.

"You destroyed one aspect of him," Wylandriah said, patting the girl's hand fondly. "And you were able to reach me, even in the depths of my despair. You're really something special, you know?"

Petra blushed, but seemed content.

"I honestly don't know what I'm to do next," Alorra admitted. "We've managed to save Sanguine and Nocturnal, but that's only two of the Daedric Princes not already captured by Melek Taus. We can be pretty sure he's already got Boethiah, Mehrunes Dagon, Molag Bal and Mephala.

"That's still only four of the sixteen," Brynwulf pointed out.

"But they're four of the more powerful ones," Wylandriah mused.

"Argis," Alorra said, turning to him, "you once said that Melek Taus seemed to be going after the Daedric Princes closest to him in nature."

"Yeah, I did," he confirmed. "Anything really evil and insidious. And he's got those."

"And we also learned that he might not need all sixteen to bring himself here, just a majority," Petra said. "So what do we do? Run all over Skyrim and see if the shrines have been desecrated?"

"That would be fighting a rear-guard action," Argis snorted. "Unless we know where the Enemy will strike next, we'd be floundering around in the dark, waiting for him to make the next move."

"Too bad you can't find out where he's taken those other soul gems," Petra sighed. "It would really set him back if you could free _those_ souls like you did the others."

They sat there in commiserating silence for a long moment, before two things crystalized for Alorra: who knew more about soul gems than the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn? And where did the souls go when the gems were used? She sat up straighter, suddenly, grinning.

"Bright Eyes?" Argis said, suspiciously. "What are you thinking?"

"Petra's just given me another idea," she smiled. "I know where we need to go next!"

[Author's Note: I would love to have included more of Wylandriah's wizard duel with Rhaemir, but this chapter was already quite long. I've always felt that Wylandriah, in the game, is a charming space-cadet who really shouldn't be playing with magic – that is, until I read somewhere that it's all an act she puts on so people will leave her to her experiments. That gave me the hook I needed to bring her into this tale. Don't worry, she won't be staying long. Like the other canon characters, she's here to tie this story to the history that is the game, but she's not playing a major role. Well, I think you know where they're headed next. But first, a stop at a certain shrine to find out if it's already too late. As Argis so neatly put it, they're fighting a "rear-guard action", and have a lot of catching up to do.]


	18. Chapter 17

Deum Occidere

Chapter 16

**[A.N.:** Some partings and some meetings, and the introduction of another OC. How long she'll stick around is anyone's guess.]

It was a sober group that returned to Riften, after Brynwulf secured the secret door to Nightingale Hall. Once closed, it was impossible to tell a door existed there. Petra was more subdued than usual, and Alorra wondered if the full realization of her new role as a Nightingale was only just beginning to sink in.

As they reached the main crossroad, where the roads continued both north toward Riften and west across the southern part of the Rift, Wylandriah asked them to stop.

"I can't go back there," she said. "I'm a wanted woman."

"We can explain everything to Jarl Zander," Alorra offered, but Wylandriah shook her head.

"No, my dear," the Bosmer mage replied. "I've played the part of a doddering fool too well. It's led to this near-disaster. Zander will never accept me back into his court, and quite honestly, I don't want to return. Any Jarl who would so callously throw away the loyalty and service of someone who has been there as long as I have, doesn't deserve a second chance." As if realizing how harsh that sounded, Wylandriah sighed. "Maybe someday I'll forgive him," she added. "But not today."

"Where will you go?" Petra asked, worried. "There may still be servants of the Enemy out there, waiting for you."

"And I'll be ready for them this time," the wood elf, smiled, her manner confident. "But you're right. I do need to go somewhere. I can't very well do my experiments out in the woods."

"Didn't Jarl Solveig in Windhelm need a court wizard?" Argis asked.

"_All_ the Jarls need court wizards," Alorra confirmed. "But since I haven't met all of them, I don't know how receptive they'll be to the idea. They were told not to keep one to avert disaster, remember."

"But from what you told me, Jarl Solveig regretted sending that message around," Argis pointed out. "And don't forget Jarl Torolf in Whiterun was _very_ grateful to you for curing the plague – I mean, the measles. I think he saw the need for a court mage once more, too."

"What's this about a message from Jarl Solveig?" Wylandriah asked, puzzled. Quickly, Alorra explained how the Enemy had already weakened Tamriel's defenses against his planned invasion by eradicating the presence of mages in the courts of the Jarls across Skyrim.

"Hmmm," the Bosmer mage said thoughtfully. "That explains why they were all being picked off one by one, and not being replaced." She told the others what she knew of the matter, including the murder of Sybille Stentor. "She was a vampire," Wylandriah said. "Even _I_ knew that. What I never figured out is how she managed to keep her secret so long at the Blue Palace."

"People often see what they want to see," Alorra shrugged. "Anyway, that's bad news about Sybille. I was hoping I could get her to help me with the next step."

"What's that?" Brynwulf asked.

"Oh, no," Alorra shook her head. "I'm not breathing a word until I know whether it's even possible."

"Well, whatever you decide, I wish you the best of luck," Wylandriah said. "I think I'll head to Whiterun. Windhelm is just too damned bleak for my tastes. And I'm sure Solveig is remorseful now, but I'll take my chances with Torolf. At least I've already _met_ him! Who knows? Maybe I _will_ get the Mages' College reestablished! It'll give me something to do, and really stick it to Melek Taus in the bargain!"

Alorra chuckled. "I have every confidence in you, Wylandriah," she smiled, hugging the Bosmer mage good-bye. The others took their turns, then Wylandriah headed down the west road, soon disappearing to sight.

"Will she be alright on her own?" Petra worried.

They heard a loud crack of lightning and a faint, "Die, you filthy feline!" from Wylandriah's general direction. Brynwulf and Argis chuckled.

"More than alright, I'd say," the red-haired thief grinned.

As they entered the south gate, Brynwulf hesitated. "I'm going to have to part ways with you now, too," he said, genuinely regretful. "The gods know I want to see this through to the end, but I've got some major Guild rebuilding to manage now, and I'll need to find another 'bird' to replace the one we lost," he went on, his eyes shifting around as he spoke. He kept his voice low as well. "Petra, are you with me, lass?"

"I—" Torn, she looked between Alorra and Brynwulf, unable to decide.

"Go with your heart, Petra," Alorra said softly. "I can't help you with this one."

"I want to help you both," the little blonde thief anguished, "but—"

"You have other responsibilities now," Alorra nodded, smiling gently. "I understand. Do what you must. Argis and I are going to head north, to the Shrine of Azura. From there, we may very well be heading out to Haafingar, to the Temple of Meridia. I need to check those out. If you can catch up with us, once your duties have been resolved, we'd love to have you back."

With tears in her eyes that she refused to shed, Petra threw her arms around first Argis, then Alorra and hugged them both tight.

"Don't beat the bad guy before I get there, okay?" she whispered.

"I promise nothing," Alorra whispered, not trusting herself to say more. She watched the two thieves disappear down the Ratway with her eyes filled and her throat constricted. She felt Argis place a hand on her shoulder and draw her closer, and she brusquely brushed the tears away.

"We'd best get moving," she muttered. "It's a long way to Azura's shrine."

Stopping only long enough at the Bee and Barb to pick up food for their journey, they soon set out again on the road north out of Riften, following it as it led past Shor's Watchtower. At the east-west crossroad they turned east, retracing their steps of a few days earlier when they came south with Petra and Brynwulf.

"Argis?" Alorra began, as a thought occurred to her.

"Yeah, Bright Eyes?"

"Where are the horses?"

She wasn't prepared for his sudden outburst of laughter. In fact, he seemed to find it so amusing he was literally doubled over and had to stop, sitting down by the side of the road as he guffawed and chuckled.

"What's so damned funny?" Alorra demanded irritably. "We bought three horses in Whiterun. Where are they?"

It was several minutes before Argis could get himself under control enough to answer her. "Windhelm," he gasped finally. "We left them in Windhelm."

"And why did we do that?" she asked dangerously.

"You seemed to know what you were doing," he grinned, still barely able to keep from bursting into mirth. "You had this great plan for getting the Pipsqueak out of town unseen. Seemed a shame to bring the horses into it."

"_WE WALKED ALL THE WAY TO RIFTEN!"_ she shrieked, which set Argis off once more.

"I wondered when you were going to remember," he chortled.

"I've had a lot on my mind lately," Alorra grumbled sourly. "You could have said something earlier. You're a hateful man, Argis, Roald's son!" She turned and stomped down the road but didn't get far before he scooped her up in his arms.

"Yeah, I know, I'm a big jerk," he admitted, still grinning. "But you love me, right?" He didn't wait for an answer but captured her mouth with his and kissed her so thoroughly she forgot she was mad at him.

The clatter of hooves on stone broke them apart, and Argis set Alorra down swiftly and gently before drawing the dragonbone greatsword. Both breathed a sigh of relief as three deer broke cover from the trees and bounded past them down the road, disappearing into the underbrush ahead.

They walked in companionable silence for the next several miles, passing by the carcass of the dragon they'd fought on the way down. It was little more than scales and bones, now, the scavengers having done their work, and Alorra managed to salvage a handful of scales which she carefully tucked away into her pack.

The sun was lowering in the sky as the afternoon wore on, and they found themselves near the old giant camp.

"Won't be too long now," Argis commented. "Kynesgrove is just up ahead, and Windhelm just beyond that."

"We'll stay at Hjerim tonight and set out for the Shrine in the morning, then," Alorra nodded.

They felt the tremor first; a heavy impact that penetrated the soles of their boots. Looking around swiftly, they could see nothing at first. But the tremors continued, slow, steady, even. A few moments later, a crashing from their right alerted them to something huge emerging from the trees. Argis pulled Alorra back behind a large cluster of boulders and motioned for her to hide and stay quiet. He peered out from behind the rock, carefully and quietly drawing his sword.

He'd never seen one before, but he'd heard tales. They hadn't lied. The giant easily topped ten feet tall, probably more, but he was dwarfed by his mammoth, which stood a good fifteen feet tall at the shoulder. He heard the rustling of Alorra's robes as she peered over the rock to get a better glimpse.

The giant looked old; old and tired. What hair was left on top of his head was almost pure white. His face was lined with wrinkles, where it wasn't tattooed, and his calloused hands were gnarled and twisted. Alorra thought he must have arthritis, for he held his club loosely and gingerly over one shoulder. He still looked lean and muscled, however, but it was clear he'd had a long, hard life.

The mammoth didn't look to have fared much better. One tusk was broken almost to its mouth, the other three were chipped and split, though it was still obvious that at one time its humanoid partner had lovingly carved sacred symbols into them. Its fur was patchy in several places; its eyes were rheumy and rimmed with red, but were cloudy, and it was clear from the gentle hand touches from its partner that it could no longer see clearly.

_They're going to die,_ she thought. _They're making their last journey together._ How she knew this, she couldn't say, but a lump came into her throat and tears fell from her eyes unbidden.

"Grant them safe passage," she whispered, bowing her head. Argis took his cue from her and re-sheathed his sword. The two old friends meant them no harm.

Just before the giant disappeared from sight, he turned back to face them. He stared toward their hiding place for a long moment, before nodding his head and returning to his elephantine companion. The two were soon lost to view amid the rising steam and mist from the Aalto Plain.

"Come on," Argis said gruffly, his voice not entirely steady. He patted Alorra's shoulder. "We still have a long way to go."

They made it to Kynesgrove as the sun began to sink behind the western hills, but pushed on to Windhelm, finally making it to the city as the last light left the skies. Once back at Hjerim, Argis swiftly got a fire going and Alorra set out some bread, cheese and ale for supper, not forgetting her tankard of water. They ate in silence, seated by the fire, and while Alorra cleared away afterwards, Argis filled a bed-warmer with hot coals to run between the blankets.

He was still busy with this when Alorra joined him upstairs.

"I've banked the fire for the night Argis," she said in a tired voice. "Front door's locked. Let's get some sleep."

"Should be warm enough now, Bright Eyes," he said. "I'll be in the other room if you need me." He picked up the bucket of coals and headed for the door but her voice stopped him.

"Argis—" She hesitated.

He turned back. "Yeah?"

"Please don't leave. Stay here with me tonight. I—I don't want to be alone."

A million reasons why he shouldn't winged through his mind, and the conflict must have shown on his face.

Alorra felt her confidence evaporate. "Oh, I see. You don't want to. It's okay. I understand."

"No, you don't," Argis growled. He set down the bucket of coals and leaned the bedwarmer against the door jamb. Closing the distance between them he took her in his arms and put a hand under her chin, lifting her face to meet his eyes.

Taking a deep breath he decided this was the time to be truthful and honest, even if it hurt.

"I want nothing more than to make love to you all night long," he breathed, kissing her forehead. "But the Enemy has already tried to get to me by giving me dreams like this."

"This isn't a dream, Argis," Alorra pointed out.

"I know that," he said unsteadily. "But taking you now, without Mara's blessing, would be playing right into the Enemy's hands. You should know that better than anyone."

An icy lump settled in Alorra's stomach. She _did_ know that, and to have Argis, of all people, be the one to point it out to her was a bit humiliating. "You're right, of course," she agreed, miserably. "But you should have said something about those dreams before."

"I did," he reminded her gruffly. "And I handled it on my own. I just think it would be a bad idea to give the Enemy any kind of opening to work with. Intimacy outside of marriage isn't uncommon in Skyrim; people do it all the time. But I always wanted the blessing of Mara for my union. I had that once before, with Marta. I won't settle for anything less with you."

Alorra sighed. "I understand," she said. She couldn't fault his principles. Argis had his own code of honor; she would be foolish to disrespect that.

"That doesn't mean we can't share a bed," Argis continued thoughtfully, a twinkle in his eyes. "We just don't get undressed, is all."

Alorra gave a mirthless snort. "You can't sleep restfully in your armor," she said. "Even _I_ know that. As comfortable as that dragonscale might be, it's still armor."

"I've spent a good portion of my life sleeping in armor," Argis reminded her.

"We could put a bolster between us," she suggested.

He shook his head. "A bolster would prevent us from sharing body warmth."

"So would armor!"

"Just lie down, Bright Eyes," Argis insisted. "Get under the covers. I'll grab the blankets off the bed in the other room and sleep on top of yours, covered with mine. We can kiss and cuddle until we fall asleep, but it doesn't go farther than that."

Alorra realized she would have to be satisfied with that. Argis' sense of honor wouldn't let him back down from what he felt was the perfect solution. It wasn't perfect; not by a long shot, but it would have to do until her job was done and they were free to live out the rest of their lives together.

The wind raged and howled around them, blowing snow into her eyes and ears. Alorra huddled miserably into her parka, hunched her shoulders against the wind and once more tried to figure out exactly where they were. The directions given to them by one of the locals were vague at best, and even though Alorra had a general idea where the Shrine of Azura was located in the game, the reality was that it was a long way from Windhelm.

The sturdy Skyrim horses they'd bought in Whiterun were used to this kind of weather, however, and seemed little affected by the blowing snow. She and Argis rode two of them, while the third was laden down with their gear. Argis, for his part, was a Nord, and the cold didn't bother him as much. But Alorra felt chilled right down her bones and wished, not for the first time, that the Shrine had been located someplace warm and sunny – like Cyrodiil.

She realized Argis was shouting something at her, but she couldn't hear him over the wind.

"What did you say?" she called.

"I said the turn-off to get to the Shrine shouldn't be too much farther ahead," he yelled back. "This road used to go all the way to Winterhold, but not anymore."

That still saddened her. Alorra wished she could have been brought to Skyrim a few decades sooner. She might have been able to prevent the disaster from happening. But then, she would never have met Argis. The thought of his gentle, yet passionate kisses last night, his strong arms around her and the heat of his body curled protectively against her gave her an inner glow that made the raging snowstorm seem less harsh. She could get very used to being kissed awake every morning, seeing his dear face light up when he saw her eyes open.

She realized when the horse shifted under her that they had turned off the main road and were now heading up into the mountains. There didn't seem to be any kind of path here, and even if there was, she wouldn't have been able to see it for all the snow. Still, Argis seemed to know which was to go, and the horses seemed to feel confident in their footing, so on they went.

After about an hour she noticed a slight lessening in the storm. The snow, instead of being driven into her face, was now falling softly around them. Alorra took the opportunity to look around. The mountains rose up around them on both sides of the pass, but the peaks to the north seemed oddly-shaped. The sky began to brighten as the snow ceased, and with a shock, Alorra realized the oddly-shaped peaks were not mountains, but an enormous statue of a woman crowned with roses, holding a crescent moon in one hand and a jagged-rayed star in the other. They had reached the Shrine of Azura.

"We did it!" she exclaimed. "We're here!"

Argis dismounted and led his horse over to her. "What now?" he asked.

"Now I need to find out if the Shrine is intact or if it's been desecrated," she said.

A ball of fire exploded to their right. Argis grabbed Alorra and put her behind him, drawing his sword.

Another fireball detonated to their left.

"How many of them are there?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Alorra gasped. "I can't tell."

A third fireball vaporized the snow ten feet in front of them.

"There's more where that came from if you move one muscle!" a voice called out to them.

"We're not moving!" Argis promised, peering upwards. It was a female voice; that much he could tell, but he could see nothing past the lip of the ledge, beyond which their attacker lay hid.

"Those were warning shots," Alorra commented, "not meant to kill us."

"Oh, I could kill you," the woman above them said confidently. "But I'd rather find out first who you are and what you want."

"We're travelers," Alorra called up. "We came to worship at the Shrine."

A bolt of lightning zapped downwards, striking a little closer. "Wrong answer," the woman said, a note of anger in her voice. "Try again."

"We don't mean you any harm," Alorra insisted. "Please, may we come up? I don't like shouting up at something I can't see."

There was a long pause, and Alorra wondered if perhaps the woman might have been communing with Azura. Finally her voice floated back down. There was reluctance in her tone.

"Fine. Come on up. But be aware I will protect this Shrine with my life, if need be."

This sounded promising, and Alorra gestured to Argis, who looped the horse's reins around an empty cart before following her up. He had sheathed his sword, but every muscle was on alert.

Alorra wondered if Aranea Ienith had returned to the Shrine. In the game, the Dunmer priestess helped the Dragonborn repair the Daedric artifact known as the Star of Azura, but for her devotion the Prince of Dusk and Dawn had dismissed the dark elf from her service, to wander Skyrim bereft of the only guidance she had known in her long life. Alorra had always felt sorry for Aranea, and more than a little peeved at Azura's callousness, so she had always recruited Aranea into the Blades, to give her a purpose in life.

The woman who stepped out of the shadows now to meet them was not Dunmer, however. She was Bosmer, like Wylandriah.

"Who are you?"

The two women spoke at once, and Argis did his best to hide a smirk.

Alorra inclined her head. "I'll answer your question first," she said graciously. "My name is Alorra, and this is Argis, Roald's son. We came to find out if the Shrine to Azura is safe."

The other woman studied them carefully before responding. "I'm Azura—"

"What?" Argis blurted. _"You're_ the Daedric Prince?"

"Huh?" the Bosmer girl said, startled. "No! My _name_ is Azura. I was named for the Daedric Prince. My parents just really liked the name," she added, almost apologetically. "Believe me, it's caused a lot of confusion in the past."

"What are you doing up here?" Alorra asked.

"I'm protecting the Shrine," Azura said staunchly. "I've been here ever since Winterhold—' She stopped, and it was clear from her haunted look that she had been there that day. "Since it was destroyed," she finished in a quiet voice. "There was nothing anyone could do, even me."

"Why do you think you could have done something to prevent it?" Argis asked.

"I am—or rather, I _was_ the Arch-Mage of the College," the Bosmer mage replied. She saw the look of disbelief Alorra and Argis shared between them and sighed. "Perhaps you'd better come in. I'll fix us some tea, and we can trade stories. I don't get many visitors up here—at least, many _friendly_ ones."

With that cryptic remark she led them around to the eastern side of the shrine base where, instead of Aranea's rude little campsite, they saw a large, cozy, wooden shack built against the foundation.

"I put this in about fifty years ago," Azura said, smiling. "Got tired of living out in the open." She opened the door and ushered them inside.

A fire blazed on the stone hearth, and Alorra felt immediately grateful for its warmth. Argis may be Nord, she thought, but the body she was in wasn't, and felt the cold keenly.

"There's a lean-to on the leeward side of the Shrine base," Azura said helpfully. "Your horses should be comfortable enough. There's some hay there."

"I'll go take care of them, then," Argis volunteered. "Stay here and get warm, Bright Eyes. You can fill me in on the details when I get back." He left the shack, closing the door behind him.

"Well, then," said Azura. "Why don't we both get comfortable? You can sit there," she pointed to a wooden chair near the fire, "and I'll put the kettle on."

Alorra looked around as the Bosmer busied herself with the tea. The shack was roomier than it looked from the outside, and Alorra realized it had been built _into_ the stone base of the giant statue outside. The fireplace took up one corner of the outside part of the shack, a single bed was tucked into the corner inside the stone. On the opposite side of the room was an alchemy lab and an enchanter's table. There was a table and two chairs, a bench against the outside wall, and several barrels, chests and crates tucked into the remaining available space around the perimeter of the room, leaving most of the center empty.

Turning her attention to the wood elf before her, Alorra took the opportunity to study her hostess. As an elf, it was difficult to tell her age, but she seemed relatively young. Shoulder-length chestnut hair was swept away from her face with a braid on the left side. A gold and onyx circlet kept it out of her brown eyes – usual for a Bosmer, whose eyes were usually orange or red. Three stripes of green face-paint took a diagonal course across forehead, nose and cheek from her right side to her left. She was small for a mer, but slim of build; almost child-like, really. If it hadn't been for the fact that she'd been lobbing fireballs at them on arrival, Alorra might have mistaken her for a child.

Azura wore armor which Alorra recognized as royal vampire armor from the game. _There's a story there somewhere,_ she thought smugly, and hoped she'd be around to hear it someday. She wore an Amulet to Akatosh around her neck, and one for Mara dangled from the belt at her waist; a plain gold band rested on one steel-gauntleted hand. Had she been married? Not knowing the woman well enough to ask, Alorra filed that question away for another time. She was barefooted now, but had been wearing steel boots, which were currently sitting beside the door. She had removed them upon entry, and Alorra immediately felt self-conscious about tracking in snow on her own muddy leather shoes. She started to remove them, but Azura fluttered her hands at her.

"No, no, no, don't worry about that!" she insisted. "It's a stone floor. You aren't doing any damage."

"Except to track in snow," Alorra said wryly. "Besides, I should give them a chance to dry, and my feet are frozen, anyway."

"Oh, well, here then," Azura smiled. She waved her hands and cast a fire rune at Alorra's feet. Warmth radiated up from it, but Alorra pulled her feet away.

"Whoa! Careful! " she exclaimed. "I could have set that off!"

The wood elf shook her head. "No you can't. It's been modified. It only gives off heat; it won't detonate."

Tentatively, Alorra touched one foot to the rune. Nothing happened. She carefully set the other foot down. Still nothing. Sighing in relief she relaxed and let the warmth suffuse her.

"I also put frost runes inside my tankards when I want a cold drink," Azura said smugly. And I enchanted a couple of 'chill chests' to help preserve food longer."

"I hope you'll teach me that little trick," Alorra grinned.

Azura handed her a cup of steaming tea. "Maybe I will," she replied cryptically. "Honey or lemon?" she asked.

"Honey, please."

When they were settled with their tea – canis root, Azura informed her – the former Arch-Mage looked her guest up and down and said finally, "Now, suppose you tell me who you are and why you're here – _really _here, I mean, and not some nonsense about worshipping at the Shrine."

"Why is it nonsense?" Alorra asked, diffidently.

"Because no one comes to the Shrine of Azura anymore," the Bosmer girl said. "Azura herself is no longer here."

A feeling like lead settled in Alorra's stomach and she set her teacup down with shaking hands. "What do you mean, 'no longer here'?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. They were too late! Melek Taus had already gotten to the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn.

But Azura's next words offered hollow comfort. "She's removed herself from this world," was the sad reply. "She knew the trouble that was to come. She told me about it thirty years ago or so. She said the best thing for all would be for her to retreat to her plane of Oblivion and cut off all contact with Nirn. She convinced Meridia and a couple of the others to go along with her."

"What?" This came from Argis, who had just returned, and was stamping the snow off his dragonscale boots.

"It's true," Azura confirmed. "Her last words to me were to stay here and protect the Shrine. 'One will come who will need your guidance,' she told me. 'You must remain here and protect the Shrine at all cost until they arrive.' When you two showed up, I had a feeling it would be you."

"How did you know we weren't here to desecrate the Shrine?" Argis rumbled, declining the proffered cup of tea.

"I was given rather precise description of you," said the former Arch-Mage, "but even if I hadn't been, you two were the first in a dozen years who didn't try destroying Azura's statue the moment it came into your view."

"So the Enemy has already sent his minions here," Alorra said, troubled, as Argis settled himself on the bench nearby.

"Yes," Azura nodded, "but now that you're here, we can begin the real work. You won't have to go to Meridia's Shrine after all, you see. And you won't have to try and find Sheogorath, Hircine or Clavicus Vile. Azura was able to convince them to stay out of any deals Melek Taus might make to them."

"You know about the Enemy?" Argis blinked.

Azura gave him a pained look. "Please, Argis, you forget whose Shrine I'm protecting. The Lady of Roses has the gift of foresight, and she passed that knowledge along to me. I've known about him for a long time."

"Did she tell you if we would be successful?" Alorra couldn't help asking.

"No, of course not," Azura said. "But at this point you're on the right path. Melek Taus needed no less than eight Daedric Princes to bring himself through to Nirn. He has six."

"Six?!" Alorra exclaimed, alarmed. "I thought he only had four!"

"While you were rescuing Sanguine and Nocturnal, he snared Namira and Peryite," Azura explained. "My Patroness has successfully kept five more, herself included, out of his grasp."

Alorra did some quick mental calculations. "That only leaves three," she said, troubled. "Who are we missing, still?"

"Vaermina, Malacath and Hermaeus Mora," Argis spoke up before Azura could answer. He quirked a grin as the two women blinked at him in surprise. "I've been keeping track, too."

"So, how do we find the last three, then?" Alorra wondered. "The Shrine to Vaermina used to be in Dawnstar."

"It still is, as far as I know," Azura said. "But after I helped Erandur get rid of the Skull of Corruption, it pretty well reduced Vaermina to nothing. She still holds sway over dreams and nightmares, but she's a much less powerful Daedra than she used to be."

"_You_ helped Erandur?" Alorra queried in surprise. "I thought the Dragonborn—'

Azura chuckled. "Yes, I know you did. You and everyone else. We let the stories spread about him like that. Marcus felt it was not entirely honorable, but I insisted he take the glory and let the world tremble at the exploits of the Dragonborn." She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "I really didn't want the attention," she continued. "Marcus couldn't be everywhere at once, so some of us – his closest friends – would do things for him and let him take the credit."

"So you knew him, knew the Dragonborn," Alorra couldn't help breathe in awe.

"I did," Azura nodded. "He was a good man, a good friend. I met him when I joined the Dawnguard. I was worried about all the vampire attacks and wanted to do something to help. Marcus and I went to Dimhollow Crypt together and rescued Serana, the daughter of Lord Harkon of Volkihar Keep. Turns out she was a vampire…they _all _were there. When Marcus and I turned down the so-called 'gift' of Lord Harkon's blood, they all turned against us. We barely made it out of there alive."

"You were both there together?" Alorra asked.

Azura nodded. "Oh, I know the tales say he went alone," she went on, "but that was because I insisted I didn't want to be known as a 'hero'. I had my magic and my studies, and I didn't want the notoriety."

"And Serana didn't object to your company?"

Azura blinked. "Serana and I were as close as two women could be without being a couple," she said. "When we would get into battle, we would fight back-to-back. She had been around a lot longer than I, of course, being a vampire and being locked away, but I had seen more of the world go by than Marcus had. I often wondered if he felt – I don't know – left out, sometimes, as close as Serana and I were."

"So you fought Lord Harkon together?" Argis asked, remembering the tales.

"Yes," Azura looked saddened. "I felt really bad about having to kill Serana's father, but he really left us no choice, and Serana knew it before I did. She didn't hold a grudge against me for it, though. She gave me this armor I'm wearing." She sighed. "Marcus almost died in the fight. If he had, we would all be gone now; he hadn't fought Alduin yet at that point."

"But he did survive," Alorra pointed out.

"Yes, thanks to Serana. He didn't want to, you see, but his wounds were beyond my healing ability at that time."

Alorra was confused. "Want to what? What are you saying?"

Azura looked uncomfortable. "Well, we left that little bit out of the tales, of course. It wouldn't sound very good to know that Marcus Navarro, Dragonborn, almost got killed by a vampire Lord. So Serana gave him her blood."

Argis gasped. "Are you saying he became a…a _vampire?"_

"Only for a little bit!" Azura assured them. "Just long enough to save his life. As soon as the fighting was over they went back to Fort Dawnguard, but Isran rejected them both."

"But they just took out Lord Harkon!" Alorra protested.

"That's what I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen," Azura scowled. "The idiot! What was he thinking?!"

"There's more to this story than you're telling us," Argis said flatly.

"A lot more," Azura admitted. "And enough time has gone by to reveal it now. Besides, it may help you in what you still need to do."

She refilled Alorra's tea cup and offered a mead to Argis, who accepted it gratefully.

"You see, Isran hated vampires – _all _vampires," Azura said as she refreshed her own teacup. "He tolerated Serana's presence because Marcus insisted she meant to help them, but he never trusted her. When Marcus came back to Fort Dawnguard as a vampire, that just confirmed Isran's fears that Serana was no better than any other 'blood-sucking fiend', as he called them, and that she was just waiting to take them all out, one by one. He insisted he would have nothing further to do with either of them unless they got cured of their vampirism."

"And they didn't want to, I'm guessing," Alorra mused.

"Well, Serena certainly didn't," Azura admitted. "She never saw it as a disease or a curse. To her, after what she'd gone through to become a vampire in the first place, it was a gift. But Marcus couldn't wait to be cured. We headed out to Morthal that day, to a conjurer by the name of Falion, who knew of a cure. Serana left us then, saying she would head back home to Volkihar Castle."

"Did you ever see her again?" Argis asked.

"Oh, of course!" Azura smiled. "We kept in touch often. I believe after Marcus got cured he went back there and returned to the Soul Cairn to let Serana's mother, Valerica, know that Harkon was dead and she could come home." A shadow crossed over the Bosmer mage's face. "It might have been better if she'd stayed where she was."

"I don't think I like where this is going," Argis rumbled.

Azura looked about as unhappy as someone could be. "None of us could have foreseen then how it would play out," she continued. "After a few weeks, Marcus returned to Isran, no longer a vampire, and he was welcomed back into the fold. A few more weeks went by, and Isran told Marcus to bring Serana back so he could apologize to her. He said he'd been doing some thinking and realized he had treated her shabbily for someone who had given as much help as she had, including turning against her own father. Marcus told me later that he had admitted going back to the Soul Cairn to rescue Valerica, though at the time, Isran seemed unaffected by it."

"But he wasn't – unaffected, I mean?" Alorra surmised.

"No, far from it," Azura confirmed. "He was obsessed by it, as it turned out. He made a great show of begging Serana's forgiveness. The poor girl wanted so much to just fit in somewhere that she accepted his apology. He cultivated her friendship for nearly a year before convincing her to bring him 'home to meet her mother', as he put it. Serana suspected nothing."

"Was she in love with Isran?" Alorra asked, a feeling of dread filling her.

"I don't know," Azura answered honestly. "I was close to her, as I said, but Serana rarely shared her true emotions with people. She opened up from time to time with Marcus, and even with me a little bit, but even we never knew everything that went on in her mind." She gave a heavy sigh. "Anyway, for whatever reason, either she thought herself in love with Isran, or maybe she just wanted to prove to him that not all vampires are bad – or perhaps she wanted to prove to her mother that not all Dawnguard were close-minded vampire slayers – she took Isran to Castle Volkihar to meet Valerica."

Azura stopped, her eyes haunted. "She never would say afterward exactly what happened, but somehow Isran killed Valerica, and Serana went berserk. She killed Isran in retaliation, then raised him as a thrall. Together they went back to Fort Dawnguard and killed everyone there, even the dogs. She then took her influence away from Isran, letting him crumble to ash, and she returned home. What she didn't know at the time was that she didn't kill _everyone_. Aegmaer, a raw recruit who had joined at the same time as Marcus and I, had hidden himself under the bodies of his slain comrades, to avoid her detecting his life essence. He was the only one to come out of there alive to tell the tale."

The former Arch-Mage took a deep breath. "When Marcus heard about the massacre he stormed back to Castle Volkihar and demanded an explanation. He got one, and while he couldn't fault her desire for revenge, he said some things he probably shouldn't have and was summarily dismissed from the castle. Serana warned him never to return. 'Friend or not,' she said, 'if you ever come back here, I will kill you. I've learned too late that people cannot be trusted.'"

Alorra felt her heart sink. The next phase of her plan depended on Serana's cooperation, and it looked like they weren't going to get it now.

"Does she still communicate with you?" she asked, not expecting a positive answer, but Azura surprised her.

"I get a letter from her about once every four or five years," she admitted. "There are more vampires at the castle now; a lot of what Serana used to call 'ferals' have come there looking for protection from persecution. She's even elevated a few to 'the Blood', as she called it, and made them full-blooded Volkihar vampires. She's the Lady of the Castle now, and her people are extremely loyal to her. I always write back right away, to let her know I'm still here, but I don't know if she gets my letters or not. Few couriers are willing to make the trip out to the island."

"I need to go there," Alorra said, unhappily.

Argis exploded. "Are you out of your mind?" he demanded. "Walk right into a nest of vampires? Ones that aren't exactly inclined to ask questions first? We'd be dead before you could get a word out of your mouth!"

"I have to try, Argis," Alorra insisted.

"No way," he said flatly. "I'm not letting you walk in there! Whatever you need to do, whatever information you think you're going to get, we'll get it some other way."

"There _is_ no other way!" Alorra said angrily. "The only way into the Soul Cairn is through Castle Volkihar, through Valerica's study!"

"The Soul Cairn?" Argis blinked. "Why would you want to go there—" He stopped as he put two and two together and realized what she had in mind. "You want to release all the souls there, don't you?"

Alorra nodded, grateful for his comprehension, in spite of his objections to the plan. "If releasing a few souls sets him back a bit, imagine what releasing all the souls he's captured so far would do?"

"That's an incredibly risky plan, you realize," Azura commented.

"I know," Alorra replied. "Don't think I haven't already thought of everything that could go wrong."

"You should get some rest, then," the Bosmer girl said. "I'll get started on some supper, and then we should all retire early. It's a long way to Castle Volkihar from here. We'll need to get an early start."

"You're not coming with us?" Alorra blinked. Argis echoed her, but it was a flat denial, rather than a question.

"Don't be silly," Azura said confidently. "Of course I'm coming with you. You'll never get in to see Serana without my help. Besides, I knew this day was coming, so there isn't anything you can say to stop me."

Argis grumbled under his breath, but whatever he said was lost as Azura bustled around preparing their evening meal.

For her part, Alorra was relieved. They might not have Brynwulf and Petra with them, but they still had help. Her Superior seemed to have found her an able replacement. She still missed the little blonde thief terribly, and hoped they'd meet up again. For now, though, she felt very comfortable in Azura's presence. Perhaps as they got to know each other better, she might be able to ask questions about the former College, about what had happened, and let the Bosmer girl know about Wylandriah's plans to re-establish the College in Whiterun.

As they retired later that evening after a simple, yet filling meal of venison stew, fresh-baked bread and cheese, Alorra felt the pressure she'd been under lift a bit. Yes, the Enemy now had six Daedric Princes ready to sacrifice to bring himself to Nirn, but he still needed two more. And if she was able to free the souls in the Soul Cairn, it might be the distraction she needed to find and protect the remaining three. Curled up on a bedroll near the fire, she felt asleep more hopeful than she'd felt in a long time.

[Author's Note: Rather a quiet chapter this time, but there needed to be some backstory and set-up for the next few. Those who may have read my other fiction, "The Dragonborn Inn", might recognize the Bosmer mage Azura, my daughter's character. My protagonist in this story, however, is _not_ the same Alorra from that bit of fluff. I just happen to like the name and use it quite a bit in the video games I play.]


End file.
